


Dreams of You

by Meowser_Clancy



Series: Assorted Jimel AUs [3]
Category: Ghost Whisperer
Genre: Break Away, F/M, Prohibition, singer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7093828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowser_Clancy/pseuds/Meowser_Clancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1920s AU segueing into a 1930s AU. When Jim meets a young nightclub singer, he only wants to get closer. And when fate brings Melinda Gordon back into his life ten years later, he's not going to let anything stand in the way of making sure he never loses her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostwhispererfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwhispererfangirl/gifts).



Melinda ran nervous hands over the new dress. She had to admit that she just wasn't suited to the styles of the day. The boyish cut, and the straightness of the dresses didn't really flatter her more...curvaceous frame. She'd resorted to binding her breasts just to get this dress on, but Kevin wouldn't have it any other way.

She swallowed.

Her mother wouldn't approve of this.

To be truthful, Melinda was a little scared herself. She was just a girl, in bobby socks and saddle shoes just a few short months ago, in her last year of school.

Like all other girls, she'd vaguely hoped for college but only expected marriage with a hopefully not too disagreeable husband. Unlike most other girls, Melinda had always ached for more. A lot more. Excitement. Passion. Danger.

Romance.

And she'd found it all in Kevin McCall.

Her mother didn't approve of him at all. That was, Melinda had to admit, a very big part of her attraction to him.

And his looks. Dark hair, dark eyes—so dark that at first they'd scared her—pale skin and long fingers.

He was tall...compared to her. But anyone was.

The day that she'd met him, she'd just been visiting the drugstore after school as usual, trying a new lipstick color that her mother would never let her buy.

And Kevin had been there, leaning on the counter, just staring at her.

It had made her uncomfortable. No boy had ever looked at her like that before.

And when she'd stood up, left, brushing her hands on her skirt, he'd followed, pressing her against a wall and leaning over her.

"You're the prettiest girl I've ever met," he'd whispered.

Wide chocolate colored eyes had gazed up at his dark, dark ones.

And her lips had parted. "So what?"

He'd laughed, surprised. "So will you...let me walk you home?"

Her mother, watching Melinda like an eagle as usual, had given Melinda the scolding of her life when she'd come home accompanied by a strange boy.

Melinda wasn't sure how she'd managed to refrain from pointing out that if her mother had let her, Kevin wouldn't be a strange boy. Not anymore. Or that any boy was strange to Melinda because her mother kept it that way.

He'd found her at the library after that. Melinda wasn't quite sure how, but one day she'd looked up from her novel and there he was, just staring at her, as he had that day in the drugstore.

"You're still the prettiest," he'd whispered, walking forward, again backing her until there was a wall behind her.

This time, she hadn't been afraid. Not in the same way. More afraid that he wouldn't kiss her.

And yet how had that, and the ensuing flighty romance that followed, filled with secret meetings and whispered words; notes and hurried interludes when her mother wasn't looking...how had that segued into _this_?

She again tugged at the dress, fearing that her...derriere would rip the fabric back there.

It really didn't fit.

Not the way it should.

She bit her lip, looking at the magazine on the bed; on the cover was a boyish looking girl with a blunt haircut; stick thin, elegant in a lazy way, looking the exact opposite of Melinda.

Yet they were wearing the same dress. Nearly the same dress.

It was called a flapper dress, Melinda thought. Lace, ish, and strands of beads instead of fabric for the last foot or so of fabric. It was the very newest style.

Melinda would almost rather cut her hair, though something like that would be a lot harder to hide from her mother.

She inhaled, and finally placed the finishing touch on the outfit: a headband that wrapped around her head and had feathers attached to it, which hung over her face.

She looked ridiculous. Her flattened breasts, the way the dress just didn't fit, the curves of her hips almost ripping it...

But Kevin had bought it for her, insisting she wear it tonight.

Tonight.

That was even more terrifying.

He'd needed the money, he said.

She wondered why that meant _she_ was the one working.

* * *

The club was smoky, terrifying and if Melinda was caught inside she'd be arrested. Prohibition promised that, she reflected, watching the liberal amounts of alcohol everywhere in sight.

The bartender caught her eye as she passed, perhaps sensing how terrified she was, and their gazes seemed to catch and hold.

But she kept walking, letting Kevin lead her forward.

Blue eyes followed their progress.

Melinda chanced one more glance, over her shoulder.

He was still watching. Still watching and just about Kevin's opposite in every way possible. Tall, very much so. Muscled. Tan. Dark haired; that was the only similarity.

And he had blue eyes. So blue and light.

Melinda inhaled, and Kevin pushed her towards the stage. "I'll play," he whispered.

She sighed, tried to breathe.

Kevin started one of the new jazz hits, one that he'd had her memorize; something that had necessitated her spending dime upon dime at the record store to get the man there to play it over and over again, because her mother would never allow it in her household. They didn't even have a record player. Her mother said it was the expense but Melinda knew that that was only part of it...barely half of it.

The club was watching. Melinda felt the eyes of every man in the place upon her, from the proprietor (someone Kevin had pointed out) to the lowest serf.

To the bartender.

His arms were rippling as he wiped the counter.

Melinda began to move, dancing a little back and forth like the dancers did in the new movies.

And she opened her mouth and sang.

The song she didn't like. It was crude and silly. It required a lot of hand gestures that Kevin had had to explain to her, and that almost made her blush if she hadn't practiced this a hundred times in her mirror to make sure that she wouldn't.

The crowd actually paid attention. She heard several whistles and her audience was slowly straightening from slumped over shoulders to very alert and wide awake.

The combination of obvious woman-child and the allure that she was forcing had the desired effect. Melinda doubted anyone cared if Kevin was even playing.

For his sake, she tried even harder, twirling more, the strands of her skirts whipping around her legs; beads hitting hard and making her wince.

And the song was over. That was meant to be it. That was all Kevin had told her.

She stared out at the crowd.

And the piano started again.

Melinda met Kevin's gaze, madly shaking her head, but he was pounding on, nodding furiously at her.

It was the same song.

"Do it again," he hissed.

And she did.

More people came in, obviously not expecting the performance, but not protesting.

As the evening wore on, Melinda grew more and more uncomfortable as the men's eyes never left her body. As they grew more drunk. As they started to whistle louder and shout things that made her ears turn red.

And finally, Kevin stood up, bowed. "Thank you for coming," he said. "But I'm done for the night."

Melinda, dazed, stumbled off the stage when he gestured.

"I just need to get my money from Crestbull," he hissed, gripping her arm in his. "Go sit at the bar for a moment. I'll be right back."

He then hurried over to one of the richer looking men, and was led to a back room.

Melinda was left all alone in a sea of desperate men, who all seemed distinctly dangerous.

She edged towards the bar, wishing she had a purse to hold, since suddenly she didn't know what to do with her arms so that they wouldn't brush against the men in the room (it was so crowded now) and make them think she did it intentionally.

Oh goodness.

And then there was a hand on her shoulder. "Come over to the bar," a voice said, deep enough to send a shiver down her spine. "That's what Kevin said, yes?"

"Yes," Melinda whispered, turning around, somehow knowing who'd be standing in front of her.

It was the blue eyed bartender, just as tall and handsome as he'd looked behind the counter as standing in front of it.

She hesitated to follow him, as the crowd was still too thick. He gave her a smile, as if trying to say he understood her dilemma, and slipped an arm loosely around her shoulders, navigating the crowd for her and pulling her to the counter.

He settled her on the farthest stool, slipping back behind the bar. "Do you want something to drink?" He asked.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, flushing. "Do you have lemonade?"

His lips curved into a brilliant smile. "Do you mean that?" He asked, leaning closer to be heard over the crowd.

"Yes," she whispered, ducking her head.

His eyes darkened at her sincerity, clouding, and he looked over to the door where Kevin had disappeared. "He's not doing this to you, is he?" He murmured.

"What?" Melinda asked, whipping her head up.

He had a rueful look on his face, and shook his head. "Never mind," he said. "No, miss...?"

"Gordon," she said, meaning to only give her last name.

"Funny name for a girl," he said, eyes meeting hers.

"Melinda," she confessed. "Melinda Gordon."

His eyes ducked away from her. "I don't have any lemonade, Miss Gordon," he said, dragging a rag over the spotless bar. "Unfortunately."

"Then never mind," she said, crossing her arms.

"I'm Jim," he said a moment later, and she looked up at him. "We might be seeing a lot of each other."

She opened her mouth to protest, to say that she'd never see him again...but something, the greed in Kevin's eyes, made her stop.

It made her feel guilty, to doubt Kevin like this.

And yet she knew that only trouble would follow this.

Kevin came stumbling from the back room, clutching a handful of bills. He came blissfully across the room. "Hey, Melinda, come on," he shouted. "I got the money. Thanks, Jim, as always."

She didn't miss the anger in Jim's gaze when he looked at Kevin, nor how Kevin was completely oblivious. He yanked Melinda to her feet and dragged her from the room.

He seemed happy, Melinda reflected. That had to be a good thing.

He led her to his car. "You looked good tonight," he commented. "You finally wore one of the new flapper dresses. I liked it, Melinda."

"Did you?" Melinda asked.

"I don't know what you did, up top," he said, gaze shooting to her chest. "But it's good that you look more modern now."

She almost stopped walking. "I thought I was the prettiest girl you knew," she managed to whisper. "Why would you want me to change?"

He didn't hear as he walked around to the other side of the car.

"Get in," he said impatiently.

She hurried to comply.

He drove them to her house, but stopped before the turn. The night was dark.

He turned in his seat and leaned over. His lips brushed against hers, and her lips tingled from the romance of the moment.

"Oh, god, Melinda," he said, running one hand up her thigh.

She jerked in response but he merely pressed his hand harder.

"Let me," he gasped, his hands moving everywhere, pressing her against the seat. "If you love me. You do love me, don't you, Melinda?"

The words were accusing.

"Of course," she stumbled.

"Then it's my right," he said.

He hiked her skirt up, pulled his trousers down.

She swallowed.

"Don't worry, I have this," he said, pulling something over his...appendage. "I won't make you pregnant. God knows I don't need a kid."

So that's what this was, Melinda reflected dully as he entered her, trying not to wince from the pain. She wondered why any girl would want this.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim wondered how long Kevin would be able to string this one along. After all the girls, all the times Jim had to sweep in and rescue them, just as he had this evening...

 _This_ one. He remembered her eyes, so unbelievably wide and deep, terror showing, and the fixed sway of her hips as she entertained the room.

She was like no other girl Kevin had brought in before. She was innocent, naive. And yet she was wise. Wise enough to see what Kevin was doing to her, but unable to stop herself from caring for the man. The look on her face whenever she looked for him; hope, that he'd love her back. Hope.

Damn it.

Jim had seen it all, deep in her eyes, when he had guided her through the crowd. When he had situated her on the stool and, ducking beneath the counter, faced her.

Kevin had brought in countless girls before then. Girls who wore brazenness like some wore clothes. Girls who knew that Kevin was stringing them along...girls that were, perhaps, doing the stringing. After all, not every girl could boast of having a piano player for a boyfriend. Girls who maybe sang with Kevin at the piano on occasion, but were never put on stage to perform...because no one would have paid attention None were used as sacrifices to a hungry, rabid crowd. Because no one would have cared.

Because Melinda Gordon was different. Special. A temping combination of woman and child, with the voice of an angel and the gentle curves of a woman.

She was beautiful. Though Jim hoped, for her sake, that he'd never see her again; that Kevin would never bring her back, his very soul seemed to ache to see her again.

One thing was for certain; he'd remember her—the delicate angles of her face, her soulful eyes, her moving lips as she sang, her voice—he'd remember _everything_ for a very long time.

Jim was no saint, he admitted to himself, lingering on the memory of her hips. Watching her had been just as arousing for him as it had been for every other man watching. Possibly more. But there was a difference, he insisted to himself.

Along with that desire, that restless need to have her, to love her, came other emotions. He had a tender heart from growing up watching his doctor father tend to anyone who came onto his path...be they priest or prostitute; paying or destitute.

The feeling that she'd awakened in him, they were more than selfish desires. It _was_ desire, but a desire for her to grow, to be free, to escape Kevin, to never come back here, to live and sing forever and always stay as ethereal as she had been tonight.

Jim's heart pounded again, aching, as he wiped the bar down for the final time that night, slipping as inconspicuously from the speakeasy as he could, darting through the darkened streets and avoiding the lamp posts and policemen.

Prohibition was an utter joke. But if Jim was caught...well, that would be a joke he wouldn't find the humor in to laugh at.

* * *

She came back that night, tugged in by Kevin again, wearing the same dress. Jim's eyes were caught by her, traveling over the curved body, lingering on the swell of her hips and staying on the barely visible curve of her breasts. Something seemed wrong with that picture. She was trying so hard to be a girl of the day, but Jim could tell that it was actually the last thing she wanted. And the shape of her, the trim legs...her hips. Her waist.

He traveled up again, losing himself at her chest. She winced as Kevin slowed, and his arm brushed against her side.

Jim wondered. He'd heard about that before. Girls trying to look more modern.

But then again, the dress was fairly low cut and he couldn't see any binding so he shook the thought away.

Kevin had brought girls before. He'd even had Jim look after them before while he conducted his business, hence Jim immediately going to her side last night, speaking to her.

Jim had never felt guilty before.

He felt guilty again now, for not saying to her, in the most explicit way, that Kevin was bad news.

But he hadn't.

Regardless, Melinda was here again. Here again and just as beguiling as before.

Kevin urged her onto the stage. Jim hung up his towel, leaning his forearms on the counter and effectively signalling that he wasn't serving drinks currently.

He watched her, as she quietly found a place on the tiny stage, eyes downcast. He watched her until she glanced up, saw him looking and he realized she was returning the stare.

His heart skipped a beat that she was looking at him so intently. And finally, he nodded at Kevin shaking his head at Melinda.

She smiled, one touched by sadness and knowledge, one that hurt his heart.

Kevin began to play. It was a new song and, considering that he'd played only one last night, Jim wondered if he'd forced Melinda to learn a whole new one today.

She sang and danced. At the end of the evening, Kevin disappeared to get his money, not even helping Melinda from the stage. Both staircases leading off of the stage were blocked by the same group—in spirit—of desperate looking men.

Jim slammed the bar flap open, with a bang that carried through the whole room.

The crowd parted for him—one didn't mess with Jim Clancy unless one wanted to deal with Dan—and he walked straight to the stage. The man at the stairs stood their ground, blocking his way, and he didn't even head their way, instead going to the center, standing beneath it and looking up at the cowering Melinda.

He reached out both his hands to her. It took a moment but she finally placed hers in his, so that he could lift her down, but her hands were trembling so much that her grip wasn't strong enough for him to dare to let her jump.

He slipped his hands from hers, noting her alarm and confusion, placing his hands at her waist almost immediately, gripping tight and swung her down to the ground, releasing her instantly; guiding her through the crowd to the same seat he'd situated her in yesterday.

Her cheeks were flushed and she wasn't looking at him.

"Lemonade again?" He asked, voice quiet.

The room seemed to be watching them. She was, still, Kevin's plaything. Jim had never done such a thing before.

"No," she said, and cleared her throat. "Bourbon."

The word was obviously unfamiliar on her tongue, and Jim didn't break her gaze as he got out the bottle and poured a finger full into a shot glass.

"Any words?" He asked, handing her the glass.

Her hand was shaking so much she took it with two hands, but she was still trembling.

"No," she said, and downed the alcohol.

* * *

This went on.

Kevin kept bringing her in. Jim watched, looked after her while Kevin did his business, and mourned when she left; mourned more when she came back.

Her discomfort didn't fade. She might have been growing accustomed to this crowd, to the leers, to the whistles and the songs, but she was still uncomfortable, walking stiffly, always in the same dress.

Kevin took less and less care of her. Jim could tell, by watching her, that she was giving up on him more and more, but still not letting go.

Why wasn't she letting him go? Casting him away?

And then it all came to a head.

* * *

"I've got Melinda in that old supply closet," Kevin slurred as Jim came onto his shift at the bar, early in the evening.

"What?" Jim asked, almost spitting the words.

"It's her dressing room," Kevin hiccuped. "We're doing a big show tonight. Tryin' to impress a man from H-h-h-hollywood. I brought her early to practice but I'm not feeling in the mood for staying here until he arrives. Could you watch after her? I was thinking of going off with Gracie here."

He reached out and palmed a passing girl's breast; the girl giggled. "You're back, Kevin?"

"I am," Kevin said. "Can you get her, Jim?"

His eyes seemed to warn Jim; maybe he'd heard more about Jim watching Melinda than he'd let on. Maybe this was some sort of crude test.

Jim was determined to fail it.

"I'll look after her," Jim agreed, voice stiff.

"I'll be back later," Kevin said, grabbing Gracie and staggering off.

Jim didn't even think, saw the first person he knew and shoved a towel into his hands. "Tim, you're on bar duty tonight."

"You can't mean that," Tim exclaimed. "I was about to win this hand."

"Please," Jim said, voice like steel.

"Alright," Tim said, scared, and quit his game, going behind the counter.

Jim felt anger almost radiating off of him, trying to calm himself down before going in there and terrifying Melinda half to death. He felt like he could kill someone...someone named Kevin McCall.

Though he'd been bringing Melinda for over two weeks now, she'd never let Jim have a real conversation with her. Sometimes they almost got to that point. Sometimes he almost got her to lighten up...and then Kevin would come out and she'd quiet down again, ducking her head, hiding herself.

He reached the door to the supply closet, breathed in, and knocked.

"Kevin?" The words were frantic, eager, and he could hear her moving to the door, yanking it open. "I need your help."

Melinda stood there, in a new dress. It looked painful.

"Jim," she said, stepping back.

"Kevin left," Jim said. "With another girl."

He pulled no punches. Melinda should know this. She should know exactly what sort of man Kevin was.

"He said you have a big show tonight," Jim continued. "For the love of god, Melinda, don't do it."

* * *

Melinda felt her heart crumbling, unsure of what to say. Jim was just standing there, being so ruthless.

She stumbled back into the room, gasping at the pain she felt. This was too tight.

Her mother had discovered the linen cloth she'd been using and had thrown it away, saying that Melinda shouldn't keep scraps like that around. She'd had nothing to do but buy bandages at the drug store and use those...but they weren't wide enough.

Melinda could feel the strips cutting into her skin. Binding her breasts was always painful but this seemed to double the pain. And it was too tight. Kevin had wanted to help her, ruthlessly tying her up, cutting the fabric into her skin.

"What do you mean?" She finally asked, tears in her voice.

She knew exactly what he meant. She...she knew. She'd seen Kevin, with other girls. She knew that he was only using her and it broke her heart but she couldn't say goodbye to him, to the first man who had treated her as a woman. She loved him. She did. Even if he hurt her, every time.

But how did you end such a relationship? He just took, and took, and took more. Even if she had tried to end things he would have ignored everything she said.

"Don't do it," Jim said simply. "Come on. I'll take you out of here. I'll tell Kevin that his man from Hollywood wasn't interested."

"But..." Melinda was grasping at straws but she didn't know what to do. It was too tight. Kevin had bound her _far_ too tightly and she wasn't sure she could get out of it without help. She certainly wasn't going to ask her mother and any of her friends...well, that would be far worse.

His words were too much. The pain was too much. Melinda burst into tears, hot and angry, more with herself than anything that Jim was saying. She was such an idiot. She had seen this coming but she'd just followed along blindly in Kevin's path, hoping against hope that he would prove her right. That he was good. That he could be good to her. That he did love her.

He had to love her.

No one else did.

"Don't cry for him," Jim said, his voice almost gentle. "Just let me get you out of here. You don't belong here."

"I can't go home," she said. "It hurts too much."

"What does?" He asked, still impatient.

She couldn't believe she was saying it. She couldn't believe she was even contemplating it but she was desperate.

She was desperate and she remembered long, lonely evenings spent at the bar, staring at Jim, trying to not talk to him, trying to keep herself to herself and not let herself be swayed by his clear blue eyes.

He wasn't a stranger. Not quite.

And he'd rescued her, from the stage, from the men, driven them away, many times.

She was safe with him. She'd feel safer if she couldn't currently sense his anger and frustration. What did he have to be angry about?

She felt the tears almost overwhelm and choke her; the sobs were too much. She couldn't breathe properly and it just hurt so much. She couldn't go home. Not like this. Not to her mother. Not to the coldest woman she knew, Beth Gordon.

She tried to inhale again, to speak.

Jim walked further inside, the door swinging shut behind him. The bare lightbulb on the ceiling swung from side to side.

"The binding," Melinda whispered, voice hoarse. "The binding hurts too much. I...I need help taking it off." 


	3. Chapter 3

Jim froze at her words, feeling all anger evaporate. Feeling his breath whoosh out in one sweep, and he could only look at her, clutching herself.

So he was right.

"Binding yourself?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It made me look more modern," she said, voice so quiet that if he hadn't been paying such keen attention he would have found it hard to hear her. As it was, he was so finely tuned into her that he didn't miss a syllable.

He stepped forward, reaching out for something to hold onto.

She was just a girl. Just trying to fit in. And she needed his help.

He...he had no right to take advantage of this moment. He wouldn't.

"Turn around," he said, voice husky, barely working.

She acquiesced, not even looking at him.

He slowly tugged at the zipper of her dress, his breath going out in a hiss when he saw the first sign of white bandages. Good god. Not even cloth.

"Why would you do this?" He asked, his hands on the edge of it, fingering the roughness before going back to the zipper, tugging it down more.

"I used to have linen," Melinda said. "A...cloth. But my mother found it and threw it away and I had to buy bandages, and Kevin...he was impatient."

The zipper reached its length, her low back. He felt his breath get faster at the sight in front of him but he couldn't...he couldn't do this to her.

He carefully, gently, slid the dress down over her shoulders, searching for the end of the bandages, if it was in the back...save her some embarrassment by not having her turn around.

He couldn't find it.

The dress was caught by her hips, thank god, for neither was holding onto it with their hands.

"I can't find the end," he said, his voice deeper than he intended; roughened by the intense desire he felt currently.

She inhaled, or tried to, before turning around and presenting herself to him. The sight was terrible; her chest was completely flattened by the cruel white strips.

He could see the end.

He reached his hand out, and Melinda closed her eyes tight. He found the end and tugged at it, pulling it free. She shivered when his fingers touched her skin and he tried hard to not react, to not let it show on his face, or by his touch.

He continued to pull on the end, reaching one arm around her to trade hands and she made a sound; the tiniest gasp, that made him want to gasp back, that made him lose his breath yet again.

He began to unwind her, letting it fall as he went, hanging at her sides.

And she was revealed.

As every inch of skin was revealed, as her flattened breasts regained their shape, Jim felt like he was about to die. His breaths were so shallow and his pulse was in his ears, his fingers, everywhere.

He moaned, he couldn't hold it back, when her nipples were revealed. And then, finally, she was free.

The bandages fell to the floor.

Jim slowly realized that Melinda's eyes were open, that she was staring at him, but he couldn't take his eyes off of her breasts.

So large. So perfect. He wanted to reach out and cup one, see if it was real. He wanted to suck at them, kiss them.

They look so angry, so hurt and crushed by the binding. Red stripes marched across every inch and Jim wondered at the pain Melinda must have felt binding every night. And why would she even try?

"I know," she said, moving to cover them with her arms. Jim whimpered at losing sight of them but forced his eyeline up to her face. "I'm hideous. Not at all like the girls of the day."

The words floored him, absolutely.

His hands were reaching forward, pulled her arms away. "You're perfect," he breathed, studying them again, gaze caught by the dusky nipples. "Do they hurt? From the binding? Still?"

She nodded, pressing her lips together. "Yes," she managed. "I...this dress won't fit over them but I can't...I just can't..."

The words were forcing themselves to his lips.

"Can I touch them?"

She stared at him, her breath coming faster, making her chest rise, raising her breasts.

"Why would you want to?" She asked, voice breaking.

He gasped. "Who wouldn't?" He managed to say. "I...I think I could make them feel better. And then we can figure out how to get you home."

Melinda's eyes were filled with doubt and then she just nodded, arms hanging by her sides.

Jim's heart again pounded in his ears and he could barely raise his hand. It suddenly felt so heavy. He couldn't believe what he was doing. He couldn't believe that he was in here, like this.

Her breast was so close. He moved his hand the final inch and moaned in the back of his throat when his hand finally touched her skin. She winced.

He moved his hands around to the back first, his arms encircling her, letting her hide her face in his shoulder. His thumbs moved, smoothing the skin there, feeling the lines the strips had left embedded into her skin, massaging them.

"That feels better," Melinda admitted.

He moved up down, getting the whole of the area that had been bound. Her breasts were so magnificent that it was quite an area of back and he only wanted to hold her closer, make his hands softer.

He started to move around to the front, his movements painstakingly slow.

Melinda was relaxing, but now her breath was quickening again; she was getting so tense.

His hands couldn't wait any longer, moving of their own accord.

* * *

He cupped her breasts in his hands, and weighed them, grasped them. They almost overflowed his touch and Melinda closed her eyes again in humiliation.

And then in something else. He continued to move his hands, smoothing over the red marks, touch so soft, and she began to feel something else. She remembered the odd moans Jim had made as he unwound her, like Kevin did when he...had her.

But not like Kevin at all.

She felt something beginning to build within her as Jim's hands caressed her breasts. He was taking away the pain, making it all better, his hands going all over the round, smooth globes.

And then they reached the center. Her nipples.

Jim paused, opened his mouth, and then sighed a little. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, making them instantly hard and alert, taking away the pain they'd felt while bound.

They were leaping into his touch, as if knowing that he'd rescued them, and he was twisting them, touching them, caressing the hard bumps until Melinda moaned, loud and uninhibited.

Something changed in Jim's touch then.

He stopped when she moaned, raising reluctant eyes to her face, and he moved forward, leaning his forehead against hers.

She didn't understand this. This was nothing like she'd ever felt with Kevin. This was...this felt good. In a very disconcerting way. Very good. He was so close their breaths were intermingling. Jim moved his hands down, encircling her waist. And he kissed her, long and slow and soft.

His lips were so tender, moving over hers in ways that brought little gasps to her throat at how good it felt. How different it was.

How different he was.

She sighed into his mouth as his hands continued to move over her breasts, returning to the nipples.

She felt pain there again, but it was a good pain. An ache, more like. It didn't cut. It only enhanced.

She moaned, long and loud, when his tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her. Kevin never tried this. He never made her feel like this, this good.

And then Jim was pulling her down with him, sitting on one of the crates in the store room Kevin had called her new dressing room and guiding her onto his lap.

And then she was kissing him, instead of the other way around. She was wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts tight against him, letting her lips and tongue sweep over his mouth, meet his tongue, dart away, go back.

"You're so beautiful," Jim gasped, pulling away.

She wondered how he could feel that after seeing her breasts, after feeling their weight.

Maybe he sensed the doubt, Melinda pulling away from him.

"I love these," he suddenly declared. "These are beautiful. The second best part of you."

"But they're too big," she said. "Not like everyone else's."

"I don't know...what men you've met..." He said, the words coming almost in pants. "But no man would ever tell you that there was such a thing as too big. Not when it comes to breasts."

She inhaled, trying to breathe, but the look on his face was making it hard.

He pushed his knees up, guided her closer.

"What...what are you...Oh," Melinda said, voice fading away as his lips touched her breasts. If his hands had felt good, if his hands had soothed, his lips were healing.

She couldn't believe how good it felt. She couldn't believe how much noise she was making as he moved his mouth over breasts, kissing the soft skin there, licking the tops, hands coming to cup them again, bring them up ever closer to his mouth.

She was keenly aware of their absence in one place, though. One place.

His lips and tongue were sweeping around, moving in circles, making her feel tight, uncomfortable.

She wanted...she wanted them on her nipples. She desperately wanted his lips there. She wanted to feel him tug on them, suck at them. She wasn't sure how or why she knew, but her body was crying for it.

Begging for it.

She arched her back, leaning into his touch, trying to force his mouth there.

She shifted on his lap, feeling him hard beneath her, knowing from Kevin what that meant.

And yet...

She shifted on his lap again, spreading her legs wide to straddle him. She could feel him beneath her, pounding, large...larger than Kevin

A lot larger. And harder.

She should have felt afraid, knowing what Kevin did, but...

She rocked against him, pressing herself to him. The goodness of the movement, how it utterly robbed her of breath, made her moan, deep in her throat.

Jim had frozen, gasping, as she rubbed against him.

"Touch me there," she begged, too needy to wait for him to get there. "Put your mouth on me."

"Where?" He asked, his voice almost wild, pulling his mouth from her breast.

She brought her hands up, feeling blinded by the desire she felt, and she placed her fingers on her nipples, on the hard peaks, making them come out even farther, it felt like.

"Here," she whimpered, bringing her breasts closer, arching her back again against his hand on her back.

He groaned in return, and finally...finally brought his mouth to one nipple, tugging at it with his lips, swiping his tongue over it.

She felt that same something continue building inside of her. She felt tight, like she was about to shatter.

He was sucking at her, leaving her tip red, inflamed, but completely unlike the feeling before.

He then pulled away, letting his breath fall on the ministered nipple, before turning to the next, letting her guide it to his mouth.

It...felt...so good.

She again rocked against him, grinding her hips tighter against him, feeling him swell beneath her.

And it felt good.

Why was it so different than doing it with Kevin? Why was there only pain then? Was it because he entered her? Was it because he was so small?

She only knew that she never wanted to stop doing this. She only knew that she couldn't breathe and Jim was only making it worse and better at the same time, keeping that pressure building.

"I...I need it," she gasped. "It's pushing me. I can't get there."

She felt as she sensed Kevin must feel, whenever he pushed into her, groaning, until suddenly he just stopped, collapsing against her.

And Jim brought one hand down, sweeping it over her ass, sliding it beneath her dress to the silky skin of her thigh, inside her underwear, until he was inside her, where Kevin went.

But Jim was doing things with his hand that were completely utterly different from how Kevin moved inside her.

It felt good. He was moving, testing, finding.

And then he found something. He touched something.

She bucked against his hand, almost screaming at the sensation.

Jim moaned too, at her reaction. His fingers brushed it again, and she started to rock, and he captured her lips in his, stifling the growing moans and gasps.

And she came to a sudden completion, heart pounding, nerve endings reaching out.

All she knew was that the pressure had been building and suddenly she was released from it, crying out, shattering into the universe.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a long time before Jim quite came back to himself, drunk as he was on the heat of Melinda's embrace.

She was on his lap, he realized dully, her head bowed toward him, and he couldn't help reaching forward to nip at her ear; the soft skin there.

She made a little whimper, curling nearer to him, thrusting herself into his chest and nuzzling closer.

Jim found his hands on her back, supporting her.

"Where the hell is Jim?"

The words managed to penetrate the deep fog of Jim's brain and he leapt to his feet, almost knocking her off balance.

"My dress," Melinda gasped, her face beet red. "It won't button as is." She was vainly trying to pull the bodice up, the erotic scene of her breasts not fitting into it almost making Jim hard again, but terror gave wings to him, made his brain clearer.

He took his jacket off, and then unbuttoned his dress shirt, Melinda's eyes widening as he pulled it from his body, revealing a white undershirt.

He didn't miss the way her eyes caught on his arms; how she wet her lips at the sight. Oh god, he didn't miss it.

He buttoned his shirt around her; it almost didn't fasten at her chest but the amount of material billowing at her small waist counteracted that.

Jim pulled his jacket back on. "Just a minute," he panted, unable to help pressing a kiss to her neck as she tugged at his shirt; vainly trying to get it to fit better over her breasts. "Stay here."

She gasped when his lips touched her skin and when she felt his hot breath there and Jim escaped, almost running straight into Tim.

"I don't know what the 'ell you've been up to, but Crestbull is on the warpath," Tim muttered, shoving Jim on into the room.

He felt befuddled and mildly embarrassed but pushed his way into the bar, behind the counter, and Crestbull was marching up to him in a minute.

"By devil, when I hire a man to do a job, I hire him to do the damn job," Crestbull bellowed. "Why the hell is Tim Flaherty doin' your job?"

"It was an emergency," Jim said coolly, feeling himself calm in the face of the man's anger. It was odd, but seeing others lose control had always helped Jim Clancy keep in control himself, perhaps seeing himself as he would be if he let himself explode.

Crestbull calmed.

"Did Tim not do a good job?" Jim asked.

"That's not the bleeding point," Crestbull growled. "You're fired."

"I'll go," Jim said, and Crestbull blinked in surprise, not expecting this; expecting Jim to beg for his job.

"Then go," Crestbull said. "I don't want you 'ere for this evenin'. I've got business; a fancy man coming to see that bitch that Kevin's been dragging in. Where is he anyway? Isn't it time for his whoring to begin?"

Jim's almost flew over the counter, arms vaulting his legs over, and punched Crestbull straight in the face, hearing a distinct crack.

He didn't stick around to find out what happened next; he flew back to the storage room while shaking his hand out, blowing on the sore knuckles.

The door was open.

He felt his heart thud; he hadn't left it open. He burst into the room, feeling his heart pound in his ears because Melinda wasn't _there_ and he turned around only to almost collide with her.

His hands came to her arms, clinging to her, staring down at her, reassuring himself that she was there.

"There's a back door, I was going to go without you, but..." Her eyes were wide and her throat worked.

Jim slung her into his arms, cradling her to his chest, and walked to the back door, going out into the wide, wide world.

* * *

He was leaning against the wall, arms folded, staring at her.

Melinda felt her breath hitch, folding her own arms over her chest.

"Aren't we going home?" She asked, voice brittle from suppressing her emotions.

"Soon," Jim said. "I don't have my own automobile and I'm not taking you home...like that..." He swallowed, his eyes settling again on her bosom. "In the broad light of day. The sun is already setting. I can take you home soon; after it's dark."

She tossed her head, wondering why she'd let him touch her like that; wondering what he thought of her, wondering what he'd expect of her now.

"Are we safe here in the alley?" She wondered.

"This is my brother's territory, so yes," Jim said, scraping a hand over his mouth.

"What do you mean?" She asked, her arms falling away from her chest; she stepped closer to him.

"My brother is head of the gang that controls this part of the city," Jim said easily.

She inhaled, not expecting that answer. "You're a mobster?" She asked, voice breathless.

"My brother is, and since he sometimes takes an unhealthy interest in my business, I guess I could answer yes to that," Jim said, his gaze faltering a little as he looked at her. "Do you think less of me for that?"

"Well, I don't understand why you're just a bartender then," she said. "Can't he find you a better job then?"

"I don't want his kind of job," Jim said, voice tinged with the slightest hint of bitterness.

"What kind of job would that be?" Melinda asked, stepping even closer to him.

He was only a foot away from her now, and he seemed to be feeling it too.

He looked down at his hands. "I think you can guess," he said, voice raw. "I want...I don't want to be part of his gang. I don't want that life."

"What do you want?" She whispered.

He glanced up at her again, catching her eyes, staring at her like he was drowning and she was his life saver. "I...I want to be a doctor," he said. "But my brother took issue with how my teacher graded things...he broke me out of school and I'd have to...do a lot of groveling if I was ever to get anywhere in this city."

Melinda breathed out, and Jim stood up, a full head and shoulders taller than her; shoulders seeming impossibly broad as he put his hands in his pockets. She saw his hands working, wondering if he, too, was restraining himself from reaching out to touch.

Touch her.

She wanted to touch him.

Her face was flushing, wondering if he could tell what she was thinking.

"It's dark enough now," he said finally, turning away from her. "Come on."

* * *

He wondered if she knew what she was doing to him, staring at him like that, offering herself up to him.

He pulled away from her, walking down the alleys. She tripped after him, three steps of hers barely equaling one of his. He slowed, letting her catch up with him, not wanting to lose her. The sky got even darker; the bars began to come to life and Jim reached out to grab her arm in case they bumped into someone.

A back door opened and a drunk stumbled out; Jim completely folded Melinda into his arms, literally pulling at his jacket to conceal her better, stopping stock still. He could feel and hear Melinda's breath; the rise of her chest underneath his arms that were tight around her body.

The man stumbled away and Jim led her farther down the alleys. "You haven't even asked where I live," she suddenly gasped, her voice too loud and Jim was hardpressed to not cover it with something...like his own. Only, considering her earlier, he wasn't sure that that would be quieter. Good god, what she could do him. What he had made her do earlier, just by touching her.

He felt his ears get hotter, remembering the exact prostitute that had taught him those moves; Dan had forced him to go into Bessie when he was only fourteen and he'd sworn, no matter how good it had turned out to be, that he wouldn't turn out like his brother; that he wouldn't take those lessons and run with them.

And he hadn't.

Melinda, he considered his first. Bessie didn't count.

Melinda was the first woman he'd brought to completion, just from touching her.

Even with the reaction from Bessie all those years ago, he'd never thought it would work that well or easily. Bringing Bessie to completion had taken so long, been nervewracking and painstaking.

But Melinda...had asked him a question.

"There's only one side of town a girl like you could live on," he said, his lust making his voice rougher than he'd intended and he could feel her shrinking away from him.

"A girl like me?" She almost spat the words, a few minutes later. "What, a slut?"

He spun around, feeling her yank her hand from him. "I didn't say that," he said, eyes fierce. "And I didn't mean it."

She shrank back even more, shivering a little in the night air, clutching her arms to her chest again, unwittingly elevating her voluptuous breasts.

"Then what did you mean?" She asked, voice shaking.

"I meant a girl of your...gentle breeding," he said, having no idea how to phrase it. "A nice girl like you."

"I'm a nice girl?" She questioned. "After all I've done? After what I did for the men in there? What I did with you?"

Jim exhaled, grabbed at her hand again to pull her onward but she kept her hands pinned tightly by her sides.

"Explain it to me," she said, voice a little wild. "I may hate what I've done with Kevin and regret it, but how am I still a nice girl after what I've done? What's the separation? Who's to say that all the whores in this area aren't nice girls then?"

Jim raked a frustrated hand through his hair, wondering what on earth she was questioning. "You aren't a whore," he said. "You never sold yourself to get money."

She closed her eyes. "I sold my voice to get money for Kevin."

"Not the same thing at all," he insisted. "And you didn't enjoy it."

"Maybe not that part, or with Kevin," she breathed.

"So that's why you're a nice girl," he said. "Because..."

"Because I didn't like it?" She said, voice shrill. "Because I liked it when it was you."

She ducked her head, not looking at him.

He felt his heart pound, and other parts of his anatomy with it.

"You wouldn't do it with someone else, or let someone else do it to you," Jim finally said. "No one but me."

The words hung in the air.

"And that makes me what?" She asked, looking up at him. "A nice girl?"

"Some girls seduce men intentionally," he said. "Using their body without regards to whether it would be a good thing for him or for her. And there are girls like you who want to find love, maybe, but would never ruin someone's life over it. That's what makes you nice. Maybe you're right. All the whores in the world were once virgins. Maybe they all started out the same and just didn't know how to get out. That's not the point. I've never condemned anyone for that."

She didn't look at him again, but let him take her hand, tug her onward.

They got out of the alleys, coming to the nicer neighborhoods. "Where do you live?" He asked. "Do I need to worry about a papa with a shotgun?"

She laughed, a sound with no joy in it. "I have no father," she said. "And my mother has meetings at church every night. That's why I've been able to slip away. I...I won't be caught."

She pointed out the way to him, silently, not speaking to him as they went.

He wasn't sure what to say.

They finally came to a tiny white clapboard house on the outskirts of the city.

Melinda wet her lips, looking at the fence in front of her.

"I won't see you again, will I?" She asked.

He shrugged, not liking that thought either.

"So what did that make me?" She finally asked, after a long moment of not moving. "What did...enjoying you make me?"

He let his hand fall onto her shoulder, relieved when she didn't shake it off.

He turned her on the spot, folding her into his arms, letting his lips descend to meet hers.

It was kiss of passion and regret; one that promised he'd remember her for always.

And then he pulled away.

"Does Kevin know where you live?" He asked, his arms still around her, reluctant to pull away.

"No," she said uncertainly. "I didn't...I didn't want mother seeing him."

"Do you think you'll be able to manage to avoid him?" Jim asked.

She lifted a delicate shoulder. "Maybe," she whispered. "If I could convince mother to let me go away to college."

"It would be for the best, you need to get away from him and all men like him," Jim said.

"You aren't like him so I hope...I hope you don't mean yourself," she whispered.

He clutched her to him. "I...oh god, Melinda. Get away from here. Don't let your life be ruined by someone like me."

"Jim," she pleaded.

He pulled away from her, feeling her absence like a winter snowstorm after a hot summer day.

"To answer your question, Miss Gordon," he said, tilting her head up to place one more kiss on her cherry lips, and being barely able to pull away a moment later. "It makes you mine," he said, eyes dark as he looked at her.

And then he left her behind.

It took all he had in him to not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not done yet, LOL. I know I said four chapters max but rules like that were made to be broken and broken they shall be.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten years later....
> 
> Melinda was 17 at the beginning and now she's 27. I'm putting Jim's age as 23 at the start and 33 now.

It was a new decade, and a new story had begun.

Dr. Jim Clancy stared at the little boy in front of him; his first patient. "Listen, this will pinch," he told him, as the boy squirmed away from his hand. "But it'll make you better. You won't get sick."

"He doesn't like needles," his mother said in too loud of a voice. "He's scared of them."

The little boy turned to face her, as if agreeing with everything she said; as if only realizing in that moment how right she was.

Jim almost groaned at the change in the boy's demeanor. Before just apprehensive because of the strange man poking him, now he was flat out terrified.

"You don't have to be scared," he said. "Now just hold still."

The boy's scream pierced the air before Jim even made contact.

He took advantage of the fact that the kid was already crying by pushing down on the needle.

Done.

"My goodness, I don't even know why I bothered," his mother huffed a few minutes later. "Is a vaccine really worth my boy sobbing the rest of the day?"

"It is, ma'am," Jim replied, trying to hold onto patience. "It's the only way to eradicate diseases."

"Well, next time I'll go to a more sympathetic doctor," she said. "I knew it was only asking for trouble to go the new man in town." She squinted at him. "What's a city boy like you doing all the way out here in Grandview anyway? Seems to me that you could only be escaping from trouble."

"Or the fact that my options were actually smaller in New York City than they are here," Jim said, challenging her.

Mistake.

She charged from the office, glaring at him, and pulling her son along with her.

Jim rubbed a hand over his forehead, unwinding the stethoscope from his neck. Damn it. This was not at all what he'd imagined it would be.

Realizing his own wisdom when he'd spoken to Melinda that night ten years ago, he'd taken his own advice and had left town. He'd gotten accepted to a college who only wanted you to pass their exams and he'd gone onto medical school afterwards, working (not as a bartender) at any place he could to scrape up the money for tuition.

There was one definite thing: he didn't take any dirty money from Dan. He wouldn't.

As far as he knew, Dan didn't even know where Jim was. And that suited Jim fine. His life was finally...clean.

He had only one regret.

One.

Melinda. Why hadn't he made sure to keep in touch with her? Why hadn't he listened to his heart that night, instead of the cold calculations of his brain? Why hadn't he made a plan for her that involved _him_ staying in her life?

He'd gone back, just a week later, and the house was boarded up, getting ready to be sold.

He wondered what she'd told her strict mother.

He wondered if he'd ever see her again, but the thought of her...the memory of what they'd shared stayed with him, haunting him, pushing him onward as he worked to become a doctor, realize his dream, with the maybe unconscious desire, promise that...that when he'd reached his first dream, his second would come back to him. That if he managed to become a doctor, the universe would somehow bring Melinda back to him, as in a reward for deeds well done.

He wanted her.

He wanted her so much. There was hardly a night that went by that he didn't dream of her, either her beautiful voice, or her eyes staring up at him; the way she'd moved against him, the gasps she'd made, the feel of her touch on his skin...

He'd at first feared that the memory would dull, with the passage of time, but his nighttime wanderings kept her vibrant, real, so tuned to what she'd been that he could almost imagine her in his life now.

What would she look like?

He could barely breathe to imagine it.

She'd have lost some of the sharp angles in her face, he thought to himself. She wouldn't be so childlike, innocent in every way, with even a body that bespoke childhood.

She'd be a woman. She'd be a woman and she'd look like it; her face would have mellowed, but in a very good way; her curves would be more rounded, her body even more breathtaking.

She'd have a woman's eyes.

And a woman's figure and a woman's mind.

God forbid that she'd married.

He couldn't imagine the sweetness of the thought of Melinda pregnant, but he couldn't imagine the bitterness of the thought of it not being his child. If he wasn't the one who was able to see her grow, swell with child.

And yet, in all likelihood, that was what had happened. Why on earth would she wait for him? When he'd never asked? When he'd quite finally told her to leave Kevin's life and _his own_ by extension?

His heart fell again, after its rise imagining how she'd look now.

There was almost no possibility that she remained unmarried. Almost none. And there seemed to be an even lesser chance that he'd ever see her again. He might try to hire a detective to track her down (that would be a good story for the radio!) but it seemed so farfetched, so impossible, when there was such a small chance the search would be fruitful...such a small chance that she'd even remember him.

That was the hardest blow, he reflected as he carefully put everything in his tiny doctor's office back into place since he didn't even have someone at the front desk yet; he didn't need it and could afford it even less. That she might not remember. That the memory of him had dulled; that at best he was a fond wisp of the past, maybe a turning point for the better, and at worse thought of a little better than Kevin.

He remembered her in his arms, crying out as she came, breasts hot under his mouth, eyes like fire.

He could never forget her. Never.

It broke his heart to think that she could forget him.

* * *

The depression had hit everyone hard, but somehow Melinda had escaped most of its scourge, though not all of it. Her mother was dead, having taken sick soon after the stock market crash, from the shock of losing her meager savings in what seemed to be a matter of seconds.

Yet in those final days, Melinda had seen a peace in her mother that she'd never seen before. "You're a smart girl, Melinda," she'd said wistfully. "This old world might take care of you as it never did me."

Her heart ached to remember it. She'd confessed almost everything to her mother that night, when she'd walked in the door and found Beth waiting.

Beth, upon hearing about Kevin, had spared no expense in getting Melinda as far away from him as possible; they'd found a college near a small town, Melinda got in and during those four years Beth had worked as a waitress to pay the bills.

In the end, they'd grown close. Melinda had graduated with full honors and Beth had been proud of her educated daughter.

And then she'd lost her. But Melinda took comfort in the fact that she hadn't lost Beth before she'd _gained_ Beth.

She looked out the train window, remembering all the journeys she'd taken on trains before now; to what destinations they'd led. She remembered traveling with her mother when she was only six years old, when they'd first moved to New York City after the death of her father.

She remembered leaving NYC with her mother at her side, clinging to valises and terrified that Kevin would show up at any second.

Terrified that Jim wouldn't.

She'd left most of Jim out of her confession to her mother. She hadn't left out that he'd rescued her.

But she'd left out the more important parts, the other ways he'd saved her. She'd left out the blue of his eyes, and the ripple of muscle in his arms. She'd left out the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands against her skin. She'd left out the way he'd touched her, made her feel.

She'd left the best of him out. She'd left out the part where she was in love with him. She'd left out the part where everyday her heart ached for him, wished she hadn't left without finding out...well, at least his last name!

She didn't even know his last name! There was no possible way to find her.

At twenty seven Melinda was most definitely a spinster, though most people didn't use that word anymore. There had been boys, and even men, that had interested her. Rick Payne came to mind. A dazzling scholar, he'd caught her interest through most of college, and he'd even returned it.

But through it all, overshadowing him, was Jim. The memory of him. Dreaming of him.

She'd dreamed of him almost every single night. She'd always thought that time would dull her memory of him, that she'd forget him as she'd forgotten her father, but her heart remembered him for her, and for that she was ever thankful.

The image of Jim, looking up at his face as he clasped her tightly in his arms, was forever ingrained on her mind.

She could remember his voice almost perfectly. She'd never forget the way he'd said her name.

Never.

And it broke her heart that she'd never see him again. That she'd forever live with wondering what had happened to him and she was always so worried.

Had his brother's gang been too much? Had he gotten caught up in it and lost his life? There had been so much violence before prohibition was finally recalled. For god's sake, he could have lost his life being a bartender in a speakeasy. The police had gotten so brutal towards some of those nightclubs.

Had he managed to escape with his life intact? If so, was he a doctor now?

Her breath caught to imagine Jim as a doctor, tall and strong and, she was sure, very capable. She remembered the few exams she'd ever gotten, administered by old men who didn't give a damn, and wondered what it would be like to get examined by Jim.

Her cheeks flushed just to think about it, and this was always when her imagination slowed; when reality crept in.

Doctors had wives.

If he was a doctor, then a handsome, wonderful man like him was sure to have a wife.

And it was laughable to think that he'd have remembered Melinda for all these years. A man like him had to have had dozens of encounters over the years, and much more memorable than her. She hadn't even...pleasured him. He'd done all the work himself.

She flushed, remembering what else she'd learned of the sexual act during biology classes in college, reflecting that Jim was truly a remarkable man to have done that to her. So many men wouldn't bother. So many men wouldn't be successful. So many men would have been like Kevin, only concerned with their own pleasure.

Even Kevin didn't frighten her anymore. She'd faced many men like him in college and successfully conquered them, and through that conquered all fear of Kevin she'd ever had. She felt confident that if she ever even saw him again she'd be able to face him, throw back everything he'd ever done and said back into his face, rebuke him, stand strong.

He was just a bully.

Well, thanks in part to Jim, Melinda was no longer a victim.

And here she was, going out into the wide, wide world, just waiting for her next opportunity. She'd been offered a job as a teacher's assistant in Grandview, New York; it was the brother of her favorite professor and she'd jumped at the chance to further spread her wings.

Life in the small town she'd lived in with her mother hadn't been the same after Beth's death, and Melinda missed the city, yet not enough to go back. She just wanted something a bit...more.

And Grandview seemed to be that. It promised commerce and a bit more excitement; but not too much. It was a college town; something that Melinda appreciated. 

As she looked out the window, she could see signs that she was getting closer, and then the conductor was marching down the aisle, bellowing:

"Next stop, Grandview, New York!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:   
> Melinda is told that she must pass a physical examination before she can be hired for her new job.


	6. Chapter 6

Melinda hopped off the train, swinging her one suitcase beside her. It had astounded her when, back in Grove Town, PN, she'd realized how few things she'd truly prized enough to take with her on this journey. Most of her clothes, well, were just clothes. She'd donated many of them to a poor family her mother had gone to church with and just took her favorites, and the most useful ones.

She had packed up her troubles in her kit bag and she intended to smile. The Great War was over, and the stock market may have crashed, but life was looking up. She was free as a bird and she couldn't find more than one thing that she wasn't happy about.

She sighed, biting her lip.

Jim would always be in her mind, standing there at the bar of her imagination, serving drinks to a crowd of rowdy men and staring at her, blue eyes never looking away for more than a second.

She shivered in the hot sunlight just remembering it.

Following street signs, and the letter from Professor James she'd been carrying all this time, she made her way to Main St. and the boarding house there she'd been recommended to.

First things first, she had to get settled. She pulled out the other letter from Mrs. Banks, looking at the address. 401.

There was a cozy house, right in front her, tiny and, if she hadn't known beforehand that it was a boarding house, she would never have believed it.

There was a teenage boy out front, mowing the lawn, and he looked up when she walked past, trim and neat in her new orange suit.

"Hello," she called out, smiling. "Is this the Banks boarding house?"

"Well, yes, but we aren't a boarding house by any means," the boy said, stretching to his full height. "Miss...Godrick?"

"Gordon," she said, frowning a little.

"Gordon," he confirmed. "We rent out a room sometimes when ma's short of money but we aren't really a boarding house."

"Ah," she said. "Do you have a selective process?"

"Anyone who's recommended by a family friend," he said, reaching a dirty hand out, flushing and wiping it on his pants before offering it again. "Ned Banks."

"Delia's son," she said, pleased, smiling at him. "She wrote about you."

"Ma's at the store now," Ned said. "But I can take you into the room if you like."

"Please," Melinda said. "It's getting hot and I'd like to cool down a bit."

"Yeah," Ned agreed, looking up at the sun overhead, and led her into the house, carefully wiping his bare feet on the mat there.

"Here's the kitchen," he said a bit shyly. "It's small but Ma will let you cook your own meals if you don't want to eat what she cooks. But she's a good cook. If you want to pay a dollar extra a week, she'll cook meals for you. Maybe she included that in the letter."

"Indeed," Melinda said. "I'll probably have to take her up on that. I am no cook. My mother had an expert hand at a stove and I just never thought I'd need to learn."

Ned looked at her, a little puzzled by the statement. "You don't plan on cooking for a husband then?"

Melinda shrugged. "Well, who says he won't want to cook for me?"

Ned burst out laughing. "That's something I've never considered," he laughed. "Well, then, good luck on that, Miss Gordon."

"Melinda," she said warmly. "Please. Miss Gordon is for at work, for my stuffy professor boss to call me."

"Who are you working for?" He asked, leading her into the next rooms; a cozy living room with a hallway leading off of it. "As you can see, we have no dining room."

"Believe me, this is almost a palace considering what I'm used to," Melinda said gladly. "And it must be easy for your mother to clean. It's Professor James. He needs a hand with things. It wasn't quite clear what my exact position would be."

"Oh ho ho," Ned said, chuckling. "You might be in for trouble then."

"Hmm?" Melinda wondered.

"I say nothing against him," Ned said. "He knows his subject. He's just a little..."

"A little what?" Melinda said. "Do I need to fear for myself?"

"No!" Ned said, laughing. "He's a little touched in the head. Crazy. Talks to himself. But he's genius, no doubt."

Melinda nodded. "How...intriguing."

"Just be prepared to meet someone like you've never even known before," Ned said, still chuckling. "All right now. This is your bedroom, the third door on the left."

He opened the door for her and Melinda exclaimed. "Ned, it's beautiful!"

"Is it?" He asked, bashful. "My mother wanted to redecorate a little when she heard you were coming. She sewed new curtains and sheets."

"It's wonderful, so light and blue," Melinda said. "And that desk, I love it!"

She turned to smile at him. "I think I'm going to like it here, if only for this room," she said.

Ned nodded. "Well, that's a good thing then. I'll leave you to get settled and, uh, send my ma in when she gets home."

"Thank you," Melinda said, meaning every word.

As optimistic as she'd been, she'd never expected this.

Life was most definitely looking up.

* * *

"I need what?" Melinda asked at the front office of Rockland University. "I don't understand. I was told I'd gotten the job."

"You did," Mrs. Curtis answered. "But it is policy for every new employee to pass a physical examination. We had a very nasty breakout of pneumonia last year and half of our faculty nearly lost our lives. We cannot vet our students like this but we can vet our employees."

"Well, alright," Melinda said. "I, uh, I just need the doctor's number then."

"We have three doctors in town," Mrs. Curtis said. "Dr. Bell. He's the preferred one, but he's bound to be booked from here to September next year. There's Dr. Hardy but I don't really recommend him. And there's a new doctor in town, a Dr. Clancy. His appointment book will be open. I wouldn't be surprised if you called him today and he was willing to see you now."

"Ah," Melinda said. "Do you know his number?"

"Just ask the operator for it, dear," Mrs. Curtis said, and waved her off.

She wouldn't even be allowed to meet with Professor James without this clearance! How ridiculous.

She strode away from the university, feeling her shoes pinch a bit. She'd taken off almost immediately, before Delia had even gotten back. She'd planned to stay and meet her host, but she'd wanted to get things more settled after hearing what Professor James was like and had taken off, waving a hurried goodbye to Ned.

Now she was regretting that. Her feet hurt and it was a long walk back to town.

She saw a phone booth and stopped, fishing a dime from her pocketbook.

"Operator? May I have Dr. Clancy's office?"

"Just a moment please," the operator answered.

Melinda sagged against one wall of the booth, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"Hello?"

The voice was smooth, silken, deep.

He didn't a receptionist, that was for sure.

"Is this Dr. Clancy's office?" She asked.

"Yes, it is," he answered. "The doctor himself speaking. What can I do for you?"

"I need an appointment," she said. "I've gotten a job at Rockland U and they only just told me I need to pass a physical examination to obtain it."

* * *

Jim heard the voice, his heart skipping a beat. So feminine. Almost a drawl.

He knew he was a doctor and shouldn't think the way he was thinking right now, but he couldn't imagine examining a woman like the one on the phone right now. Her voice was enough to make him hard.

"I, uh, have an open book," he said. "When do you want to come in?"

"Tomorrow morning won't be soon enough for me," she answered. "I need certification that I don't have any deadly illnesses."

"Of course," he said, wondering what such an examination might entail. Good god, he was a doctor. He had to get it together. This was such a betrayal of trust.

"My office opens at 8:30 sharp," he said.

"Put me down for it," she answered.

It was only after he'd hung up that he realized he hadn't gotten her name, further proof that he was lost without a receptionist. He shook his head, wondering why he even thought it would matter. After all, she'd be the only person walking into his office tomorrow. The only.

He mused over her voice for a long moment after the phone was back on the hook. The only time he could remember being that affected by just a woman's voice was, well, back in the city. Melinda. Her singing. Her huskiness after, once her vocal cords were spent.

This woman's voice had reminded him of that, he realized. The same basic intonations and tone.

He was a lost cause. His second patient would be his last if he didn't find a way to control himself by tomorrow.

He picked up a medical textbook, feeling a bit manic.

He had to remember that he was a professional and she was his patient. That was all there was to it.

Besides, it was just her voice. She was probably an old married woman (despite that she had sounded rather young, young and seductive, sure to have a body to match...) who needed to supplement her husband's income after the stock market crash.

He breathed in. Just her voice.

He pictured in his mind a woman older than himself, with some kids in school, a husband to feed.

Yes. Just keep that picture in mind and he should be fine.

* * *

Melinda stepped out of the phone booth, pulling at her orange suit jacket. She'd planned to change but her impromptu trip down to Rockland U had derailed all of those plans.

She was suffocating in this heat.

She hurried down the street, knowing that she'd be the talk of the town if she removed her jacket. That was how small towns operated. And yet...she was a ways out of town yet.

She unbuttoned the jacket, pulling it from her body, knowing what a sight she'd make in her short sleeved blouse, what with how it was sticking to her.

Well, if she brought scandal on her head, so be it. This was too relieving for her to care.

She idly waved her hand in front of her face, wishing for a breeze to cool her down even more.

She reflected on the doctor's voice, feeling herself warm again, exactly the opposite of what she needed.

She'd expected an elderly man, even though Mrs. Curtis had warned he was new in town. Of course he'd be young.

But did his voice have to sound so good? Have to send shivers up and down her spine? Have to make in between her thighs more moist than it was already from the weather?

She closed her eyes, remembering its smoothness. _I, uh, have an open book. When do you want to come in?_

She'd felt like he was seducing her. A voice like that, it wouldn't matter what he said.

She moved a nervous hand over her waist, wondering how tomorrow would turn out. As she'd been reflecting on the train, doctors got married and had wives. There was no way he was single, so she didn't have to worry about it.

The thought stopped her a little, remembering the _why_ behind thinking of doctors on the train. Jim.

His voice had been so like Jim's. No wonder she'd been so affected by it.

She cleared her throat in the summer air, feeling herself only getting more flushed.

It was time to get home, though. Meet Delia.

She chuckled to realize that she already thought of that little house as home.

* * *

Jim left his office at a quarter to six, not waiting around for the top of the hour to leave. No one was coming in.

He hurried outside, wishing he had an automobile. It was a long walk to his apartment and usually he didn't mind it, but today was so hot...

He pulled at his collar, looking across the street. His office wasn't even at a good place; at the very edge of the commercial district; across the street were houses and not stores.

A woman was walking up the hill, to Mrs. Bank's house.

Jim felt himself stopping to watch, feeling sweat drop down his brow.

She was dressed in an orange suit but she'd taken the jacket off because of the weather, he surmised.

Her figure was...enough to wipe away all thoughts of his mystery caller. Just the contrast of wide to slim to wide again, almost an hourglass, made Jim a little lightheaded despite the weather. He watched the sway of her hips and his breath seemed to desert him.

He turned quickly away before she noticed him looking. That wouldn't do. And he didn't like to be that man, the one who just sat on street corners and whistled at women who walked by.

But he couldn't help looking at _that_ one.

Even a saint would be forgiven for looking.

He stole one more glance over his shoulder at her slim, perfect legs beneath her suit's skirt, and quickly glanced away, heading in the opposite direction down the hill. Thank god.


	7. Chapter 7

Melinda met Delia, and was very pleased with the older woman. She was cheerful and friendly, and very glad to meet Melinda.

"Ned told me that you'd arrived, but you weren't here," she chuckled. "Is the room to your liking?"

"It's gorgeous," Melinda said. "The blue walls...I've never lived in a such a pretty room."

Delia chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you like it that much. I didn't think it was anything special; just Ned putting on a coat of paint or two."

"I have to thank you for letting me into your home without ever meeting me," Melinda said.

"We had you on good recommendation from dear friends," Delia said. "I'm always glad to open my home to deserving young women." She smiled at Melinda. "I sometimes think I married too soon, so it pleased me to see that you are a career woman."

"And a spinster," Melinda said, laughing. Delia, surprised at the words, finally joined in.

"Well, there's that too that surprised me," she admitted. "How is it that you don't have a man?"

"I couldn't find another one after…" Melinda trailed off, not sure how to put it.

Delia sighed. "I lost my husband too, as I'm sure you can tell. I understand."

"He didn't die," Melinda blurted. "But I don't know how to find him. He's...lost to me. Probably married by now, with children and dogs and a wife who was much prettier than I'll ever be." She shrugged. "I'm sorry. I just...still wonder about him."

"Well, couldn't you find him again, at least find out if your theory is true?" Delia asked.

"I don't know his last name, that's the crazy thing," Melinda said. "I knew him for six weeks, six glorious weeks, and I never thought to learn his last name."

"It must have been quite a romance," Delia said, smiling at Melinda.

"You might call it that," Melinda said, ducking her head. "So. We should talk business. I will, indeed, pay you that dollar a week to cook for me. I have been living out of diners since my mother died, I'm ashamed to say. I just never learned how to cook."

"That's a unique quality in a woman," Delia joked. "But why not? Anything you specially like or dislike?"

"Not really," Melinda said. "I'd eat anything you put in front of without complaining."

"Well, of course, but you do you like anything?" Delia wondered. "I could make your favorite dish. It wouldn't be a large matter for me."

"I like Jello," Melinda admitted. "Brand name Jello. It's so economical, too. And the recipes you make with just one package…" She smiled sheepishly. "I think I've been listening to too many radio commercials, but it's one thing I actually make for myself."

"I just happen to have a box of cherry," Delia said. "And you're right. It is cheap."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to go unpack now," Melinda said, picking up her orange jacket from where she'd laid it on the back of a chair. "Unless you'd like help with dinner?"

"I can do it," Delia said, pulling some potatoes from a bag. "We'll just be having spinach, potatoes and sausage, and those are easy enough. And jello, of course."

"Thank you," Melinda said, her voice getting a bit husky. "I, uh, didn't expect you to be so friendly and...I'm grateful."

Delia smiled at her in return. "It's just who I am," she said, brushing off the compliment. "And it's easy to be friendly to someone like you."

"Well, thank you for that," Melinda said, and left the room, going down the hallway to her bedroom. She heard Delia turn on the radio in the kitchen, to a news program.

Her mother had always listened to the radio when she cooked too. It had been her one indulgence.

Melinda felt tears rise to her eyes, and a lump form in her throat. She missed her mother. Sometimes she could remember with a smile, and sometimes the memories just jumped back at her, the sacrifices Beth Gordon had made for her daughter.

She shut the door to her room, pulling off her orange suit and carefully hanging it up. She'd need it to be fresh again for tomorrow, since she only had two suits to wear.

She wondered what she should wear to her examination. A house dress would be more practical, but was it formal enough to visit a doctor?

She looked at her three house dresses, each made of simple cotton; one was light blue dotted with orange blossoms; one was red and spread with tiny greens plants and one was light green checked. Each were nipped at the waist, showing off her figure as the styles of the day dictated, yet much more relaxed than styles of the past. She'd thanked God Himself when the flapper dress went out of style, finally feeling like she could breathe again in these new dresses.

She'd wear the green checked, she decided. He was just a doctor, after all. There was no use worrying about it too much.

She unpacked her suitcase; one more suit, the three dresses and underwear. She'd have to buy more things eventually, she recognized, but that could come later when she'd earned more money and had more places to go in town.

She'd like to have a party dress, she realized, feeling a bit foolish for that desire. It was such an impractical item, but she liked looking pretty. What girl didn't, after all?

She sighed, carefully folding her stockings, underwear and brassieres, sliding them into a bureau drawer. They were all light but sturdy, much more durable and comfortable than clothing styles ten years ago. She was so thankful that the times had changed.

She changed into one of her house dresses; the blue floral one, and headed back into the kitchen, barefoot. She felt the beginnings of a blister on one heel and vowed to ask Dr. Clancy about that tomorrow.

As she walked into the kitchen, she heard voices outside; Delia was at the stove humming along to a gay tune on the radio and she slipped back the older woman, curious.

Ned was on the porch swing, with a young girl about his age; 17. She was very pretty, with a heart shaped face, warm brown eyes and curly brunette hair in a slightly longer bob than most of the day.

The one way Melinda didn't follow the fashions were that she'd kept her long hair. It was her one vanity, she realized, stepping out onto the porch.

Ned looked up in surprise, tearing his eyes from the girl in front of him with a little difficulty. And no wonder, considering the figure she had to match her piquant face.

"Miss Gordon," he greeted, jumping up. "This is Katie Gregory, my...girlfriend." He smiled down at her rather shyly, dimples showing in his face.

"I was just about to go," Katie admitted, standing with him. She was very tall, with long legs that seemed to go on forever, standing almost more than a head taller than Melinda. "So you're…?"

"Melinda," Melinda offered, sticking out her hand. "I'd love to get to know you while I'm staying here."

"That would be nice," Katie said shyly, showing some dimples herself. "Papa will be wanting me home for dinner, Ned."

"I'll let you two say goodbye," Melinda said, ducking back inside.

She saw Ned take Katie's hand and squeeze it, leading her down the walk.

"He always walks her home," Delia sighed, watching with her. "He's more than head over heels for the girl. I'm a bit worried, but she's a good girl with a nice family. I just don't want them to move too fast."

"I feel the same," Melinda said. "Such romance, though. Wouldn't anyone want to go back to being seventeen and in love?" She bit her lip. "I know I would."

Delia nodded with her. "For me it's nineteen," she said sagely. "That was when I met my Charlie."

"How did he...pass?" Melinda wondered.

"He got sick," Delia sighed. "When Ned was only seven. He lingered for a few years but passed before Ned's ninth birthday. I miss him. Every single day."

Melinda placed a hand on Delia's shoulder. "It never stops hurting," she said. "But what I've learned is...you can smile." She felt a sob in her throat, stifling it. "I can remember my mother and smile."

"Exactly," Delia said.

"Let me help you set the table," Melinda urged.

* * *

"You're early," his landlady commented, sharp eyes piercing him.

"I had another day with only one patient," Jim reluctantly admitted. "But I got a call requesting a physical examination tomorrow so I am doing well."

She laughed. "You're easy to please," she commented. "Well, dinner isn't ready yet."

"What are you making tonight?" He asked, leaning over her pot.

"Soup," she said.

"Again?" He asked. "You know, I could make dinner some night. It's not like I'll be stuck at the office and I don't want you waiting on me hand and foot."

"You just hate my cooking," she replied.

"That too," he joked, letting her swat at him.

"You're paying for meals," she said. "I don't mind the extra cooking. Makes me remember my husband." She got a far off look in her eyes. "He liked my cooking. Even the simplest of things would make him happy. And my banana pudding he'd die for."

"I'm glad you had that," Jim said.

"Speaking of, how is it that a handsome young man like yourself, a doctor no less, isn't married yet?" She asked, eyes piercing him again, totally back in the moment.

"I haven't found the right woman," Jim said, meaning every word to a point she wouldn't hear or understand.

"You aren't...a man lover, are you?" She asked, looking straight at him. "Because you have been here for two months and not once have you let one of those ladies who've approached you stick around."

"No!" Jim said. "I mean it. I'm looking for the right woman, and believe me, when I find her...there is nothing that will stop me from marrying her." He frowned. "Unless she's already married."

"You're talking about someone in particular, aren't you?" She asked slyly.

"Maybe," he admitted.

"The one that got away," she sighed romantically. "When did you know her?"

"Ten years ago," he breathed. "She was six years younger than me and fell in with a bad boy, but she wasn't stupid. She loved him, but she could still see that it wouldn't last, she just...wanted it to. And then…" He trailed off, as she had done, lips parting. "Everything changed. She left him. We...shared a moment." Or two. "And then she was gone. To get away from him. But I never...never saw her again."

"You should hire one of those radio detectives to find her," she commented, snapping green beans. "Or that Nick Carter fellow in the comics."

"He'd make short work of it," Jim admitted. "But...I don't know. There's no way a girl like her hasn't gotten married yet. Unlike me, I doubt she remembers any of it."

"Oh, I don't know if I'd forget a man who rescued me," she said.

"I never said that I rescued her," he said, startled.

"Any man who helps a lady get away from a bad boy without expecting anything in return is her rescuer," she said pertly. "You did a good thing, Jim Clancy."

"Well, it doesn't matter," Jim sighed. "I...I probably should try to find someone new."

"Well, don't hurry yourself," she said. "Now go wash up for dinner."

* * *

Melinda pulled a nightgown over her head, shimmying so that the fabric fell neatly. This was another one of her extravagances; a real silk nightgown. She'd spent almost her whole paycheck on it one week, unable to help herself.

She carefully braided her hair, pulling the hair back from her forehead a bit sharply, knowing that her hair would be curly tomorrow for doing it.

The tail of the braid curled around as she tied it with a ribbon; it fell to her breast when she let it go, climbing into bed.

Would she say her prayers? She wondered, remembering how strong her mother's faith had always been. "Bless all my loved ones," she settled for. "And thank you for this new situation. Life is good. Amen."

She slid the blankets up higher, gazing up at the ceiling above her, wondering how long it would take her to fall asleep.

_"I don't have any lemonade, Miss Gordon. Unfortunately."_

She shivered, bucking a little at the totally unexpected memory, how crystal clear the memory of his voice was after a whole ten years.

_"Turn around."_

She shifted a little, biting back a whimper, remembering every touch of his hands, almost feeling the pain of the binding.

 _"I can't find the end."_ The strain of his voice, the tremble in his hands. She swallowed, lifting her hips slightly, letting her nightgown slide up.

_"You're perfect...do they hurt still? From the binding?"_

Yes. They did.

Melinda lifted one hand to her breast, barely cognizant of what she was doing. She'd never touched herself intentionally, purposefully. After some particularly vivid dreams of him, she had...well...finished the job herself, remembering Jim's fingers inside her.

But she'd never started out a night with him.

Maybe...maybe she'd never dream of him again. Maybe this was a turning point in her life and if she didn't remember now she'd lose him forever, all over again.

_"They're perfect. I don't know...what men you've met…but no man would ever tell you that there was such a thing as too big. Not when it comes to breasts."_

She remembered the pauses in his voice, the struggle to speak when looking at her, and she lifted her hand up.

_"I think I could make them feel better."_

It was like his hands were guiding hers, and she gently cupped one breast in her own, closing her eyes and picturing his face, so intent upon her bare skin.

The weight of one made her gasp, and she carefully rolled one hesitant finger over her nipple, through the fabric of the nightgown.

She wanted...she wanted his mouth there. There was no substitute for his mouth. Her hands she could make believe, though they weren't nearly as large or as rough, but his mouth…

She felt herself beginning to be short of breath, and slid her hand up her thigh, to the whisper soft and exceedingly sensitive skin there, almost letting a moan slip past her lips, closing her eyes even tighter, trying to summon Jim.

One finger slipped inside. She pretended it was Jim, letting herself buck against the touch, gasping. She found her core, rolling her fingers over the nub there, bringing her other hand back to her breasts, teasing the nipple, tugging at it, trying to simulate as best she could Jim's mouth tugging at it.

No. No, he'd kissed her then, silencing her cries as she came in his arms. She wet her lips, brought her fingers there, frantically tried to make up for it.

She came, a few painstaking moments later, not nearly as good as it had been when he'd done it.

She breathed hard, bringing her pulse down, assuring herself that she'd been quiet. And she had. Almost too quiet.

It wasn't enough.

She rolled over and forced herself to fall asleep.

_A hot mouth on her breast, hands on her waist, grazing down to cup her ass, pulling her nearer to him. Hot skin, muscled body._

_She arched into the touch, gasping to realize that Jim was in her bedroom._

_"You've missed me, haven't you?" He asked, leaning down to press another kiss to her breast. "You tried so hard."_

_"It wasn't good enough," she whimpered. "I needed you there to help."_

_He laughed, lazily placing his hands on her forearms, pinning her to the bed and letting himself press against her. She gasped, moaned, tried to bring herself even closer to his body, to the heat of him._

_His lips were on her breast, tugging at the nipple, the wet heat of his mouth was pulling her closer. She threaded her hands into his hair, into the short curls there, making him gasp with her intensity._

_"Be careful, there, my love," he whispered against her skin. "It wouldn't do to make your husband bald."_

_Husband? Was she that lucky?_

_His mouth traced kisses down her stomach, sucking at the skin there, and Melinda realized what his destination was. My god. He meant to kiss her, where his hands had been._

_She remembered the feel of his mouth on her breasts and his fingers inside her, wondering how much better his mouth had felt tugging at her nipple, and how much better it could feel if he kissed her between her thighs too._

_She felt like screaming from how good it felt. His lips were on her thighs, gently ghosting up them, his tongue was flicking at the indent, and he was staring at the curls there._

_My god, he was actually about to do it._

_She could feel his breath there, heating her, and he pressed another kiss to her thigh, and she tried to move her body closer._

_"Don't rush this, darling," he whispered, blowing hot air on her core, and she felt like bolting into the air. She was gasping for breath, and her breasts were tingling, wanting him there again but not nearly as much as she wanted him down there._

_He finally got closer, his mouth promised to be wet, to be hot and to pleasure her beyond belief._

Melinda jerked awake, lay there in bed gasping, wondering if she'd made any noises, cried out. She hoped not. She expected not, since she'd had similar dreams in college and not once had her roommate scolded her for it.

She felt like crying, she was so angry. She'd been so unbelievably close, only for it to be cut short like it had.

* * *

Jim entered the examination room the next morning, pulling gloves on. She was already dressed in an exam gown, ties loose around her waist, face downcast. He felt like he couldn't breathe from how her breasts were straining against the unforgiving fabric of the white cotton gown, from how he could see her nipples were hard peaks. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't let himself go there, do this.

And then she looked up. She looked up and it was Melinda sitting there.

"Jim?" She gasped, her voice just as he remembered it.

"Melinda," he moaned, his eyes sweeping over every inch of her as if to confirm that she was here, she was real, she was complete.

"I remember you," she said. "I've always remembered you."

"I can't believe it," he gasped.

"I'm so glad to see you again," she whispered.

Jim stepped forward, placed his hand on her shoulder to confirm that she was real.

Her hands were nervous, fiddling with the ties at her waist.

Jim leaned forward, and her eyes darkened; she flicked her tongue out to wet her lips.

His lips touched hers. He gasped as she returned the kiss, her enthusiasm floored him.

Her hands were moving, he could feel them between them, and then she was pressing herself to him and he could tell even through the fabric of his dress shirt and undershirt that she'd untied the gown, that she'd bared herself to him.

Their kiss was frantic, needy. He lowered her back onto the table, situating her, before climbing onto it himself, straddling her.

The view she made was utter perfection. Her breasts called out to him, proud and free and naked to his touch and gaze.

She moaned as he lowered his head down, tasting her breasts again, as he slid his hands down her hips, finding the skin of her thigh.

She was helping him, unbuttoning his pants. He was panting, unable to breathe, and she was forcing his trousers down.

"I want you inside me," she begged.

And everything was going so fast. Jim's boxers were down, and she was gazing greedily at him, and he pressed into her, slowly, and she was tightening around him, then expanding to fit him.

He rocked against her, going deeper, making her only react more, grab at him, pull him closer. "I love you," she panted. "I always did. I never forgot. Never."

"I can't believe you waited for me," he whispered, thrusting into her, bringing them both closer.

* * *

It was then that Jim woke up, feeling himself harder than he'd ever been. He'd been inside her. He had. It had been so vivid. So real.

He was gasping, trying to bring his mind off of her, thinking that he'd probably already been too loud.

But he couldn't help it. He had to help himself or he wouldn't even survive this erection. He grabbed hold of himself, and it only took a few touches to make him shatter, almost crying at the relief he felt.

Oh god.

Well, it was a good thing that he'd dreamt about it first. Now no matter who sat on the table tomorrow morning, he'd be able to handle it. Even if it was Barbara Stanwyck herself, vamp of the big screen.

Even if it was Melinda.

At least that's what he promised himself.

He laughed at himself, so desperate for a woman that his body could conjure her up so clearly. So starved for an emotional connection that he could dream up sexual encounters but not clearly enough to finish satisfyingly.

Damn it. Damn it all.


	8. Chapter 8

She didn't sleep well, and her neck felt stiff when she woke up, far too early, at just past seven a.m.

She got out of bed, her mind too awake to let herself drift back to sleep, slipped a robe on and washed her face in the tiny, shared bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror briefly.

Why was she so tense about this? It was a physical examination, for goodness sake. And, maybe, the doctor had had a compelling voice and she was feeling shy because of that. Because her overactive imagination was conjuring up all sorts of inappropriate scenarios.

She bit her lip and hurried back to her room. She'd taken a bath last night and now brushed her hair out, feeling pleased with how nicely it rippled down her back, down past her shoulders, carefully twisting it into a bun and firmly pinning it up on her neck, twisting the front ends a little, fiddling with her hair far longer than she usually did.

One would think she'd never talked to a man before. Quite the contrary, she and her mother had gone to a male doctor back home.

He hadn't had such a compelling voice, though. Not at all. He'd been older, and kind, and she'd trusted him enough to let her examine him.

And he most definitely hadn't made her feel like melting just from having a phone conversation with the man.

She slipped underwear on, and the new fashioned bra, again reflecting on how times had changed before dressing in the green checked house dress, as she'd decided upon yesterday.

It flattered her, she knew, though it was hard for these new styles to not flatter anyone; slimmer or curvier, they made everyone look nice, what with how they called attention to the waist, the slimmest part of most women's bodies, and let the bust and hip lines speak for themselves, not calling undue attention to them, but not trying to diminish them either.

She buttoned the front, straightened the collar and left her bedroom; the clock read 7:35, and Delia was coming out of her own bedroom, hair twisted in a tight bun on top of her head.

"Good morning," she said warmly. "Speak softly; I like to let Ned sleep in during the summer."

"Of course," Melinda replied, copying the woman's softer tone. She followed Delia to the kitchen.

"Is there anything you especially like for breakfast?" She asked casually, pulling an apron on.

"Oh, I don't know that I feel particularly hungry," Melinda apologized. "I guess my mind decided that an examination was something to be worried about and I feel positively queasy."

"Oh goodness, the things my body does when I get nervous," Delia chuckled. "My hands go slippery."

"My stomach is jumping," Melinda sighed. "Maybe just some coffee?"

"And a muffin," Delia announced. "I'll just whip up a quick batch and you can eat that before leaving. It'll be nice and light; it won't bother you at all."

"Thank you," Melinda said. "I can put on the coffee, though, my experience in a kitchen does extend to that."

"Go ahead," Delia said, pointing out the coffee pot and big can of coffee.

"Do you tend to put egg shells in with the grounds?" Melinda asked.

"No, I don't find it necessarily improves the taste," Delia said, beating eggs and oil together.

"My mother did," Melinda said. "But I have to admit that I never noticed a difference."

"Here's an egg shell, if you want to," Delia offered.

"No, I won't," Melinda said, laughing a little before carefully measuring out the water and coffee beans.

Once the pot was ready, and beginning to heat, Melinda watched for a moment as Delia continued to bustle around the kitchen, measuring flour and sugar, humming a little and not minding the world around her.

"I think I'll go sit on the porch for a moment," she said.

"Could you bring the paper in when you come back?" Delia asked, and Melinda nodded, slipping outside.

The world was wet with dew; cool and clear, something that would most definitely not remain throughout the day.

She could already sense that it was going to be hot, from the way she didn't shiver at all.

She sat on the porch swing, pushing off a little, arms folded over her chest as she looked at the world around her. It was such a small, peaceful town.

She wondered if she could grow to live living here in Grandview.

* * *

One cup of coffee and two scrambled eggs later, Jim was gargling baking soda to freshen his breath before going to the office.

It was 8:15 and he didn't want to be late on the day he actually had a patient.

Why had he said his earliest appointment was 8:30? It wasn't like it mattered. He should have said nine, or even 9:30. Of course, he couldn't have predicted that he wouldn't sleep that night yesterday afternoon while scheduling it.

Mrs. Davis bustled past him. "You need to get going," she scolded. "You'll be late."

"Then you should have started breakfast earlier," he teased. "If you were going to make me eat it."

"You don't need to faint in the lap of your first patient," she griped. "Nice way to thank me for keeping you healthy."

"Thank you," he said, pressing a kiss to her wrinkled cheek.

"Get off with you," she said, smiling anyway.

He dashed from the house, walking at a fast pace up the street to where his office was, just a few blocks away.

The walk had never seemed long before but now that he had an actual patient, he was feeling just a tad stressed, breathing a sigh of relief when, ten minutes later, he got to his office and there was no one waiting there.

He quickly unlocked the door and opened the curtains in the waiting room, again considering if he should invest in a receptionist, hurrying through his office to let light in.

He then walked to the front desk, finding the information sheet she'd need to fill out, placing it out front.

He needed to take his jacket off and put his doctor's coat on, he reflected, racing to the back room and changing quickly, feeling frazzled and not at all like the calm, mature doctor he wanted, needed to be if he hoped to make a living in this town.

He breathed in, and out, and in again, hearing the door to his office open, and casually walked through the corridors.

He saw her from the back first, blinking a little to make sure he wasn't just imagining it. The swell of her hips in a light green checked house dress. The bounty of hair twisted tightly up on the neck, not hidden by her hat. The way her waist slimmed from her hips and then swelled again.

If he was finding it hard to breathe, he knew why.

She was carefully closing the door behind her and Jim's mind and eyes raced, tracing over her legs before jerking up to her face the moment before she turned around.

Brown eyes looked up at him. Lips parted.

Jim stared at her, his own mouth falling open. Could it...no.

That was impossible. He knew that.

And yet, the way her eyes were flying over him, outright staring, examining him...her arms, her chin, her cheekbones…

She was...she couldn't be, and yet…

If she was...she was all he'd ever imagined she'd be. Her face was softer, touched by age, and her figure seemed to have an extra curve to it; maybe her waist wasn't as small but her bust and hips seemed to have expanded with it, leaving her shape unchanged.

"I...I'm Dr. Clancy," he stammered, reaching blindly for the paper and handing it out to her with a pen. "Please, fill this out."

She nodded, unspeaking, eyes huge, breathing rapid. His gaze shot to her chest and he wanted to slap himself.

Her hands were shaking but she carefully wrote in the form, in firm, elegant script, handing it back to him in a moment.

He read the words at the top of the page and his heart seemed to stop.

_Melinda Irene Gordon._

He reread the third word, lips parting again, feeling a hot flush on his cheeks, and like he was about to pass out.

_Gordon._

She wasn't married.

* * *

Melinda stared at the man in front of her, still not quite believing her eyes, because he...he looked like Jim.

But how could she know if it was Jim?

"Dr. Clancy," he introduced, handing her the paper to fill out without their hands even brushing.

She felt she would have known right then; if he'd touched her, her body would have remembered instantly.

Was his surname Clancy? Why hadn't she ever found out?

She licked her lips, watching him as he read her sheet, a frown falling over his face before he looked up at her again.

She darted her gaze away, biting her lip and trying to look anywhere but him. Was it...could it be Jim?

She darted a glimpse at him again, as tall and strong as she'd remembered; seeming impossibly taller and stronger, even. His face had different lines on it; it had been ten years, but they just seemed to improve the structure of his face. His hair was as black as ever and his eyes were still a piercing blue.

If...if it was Jim.

"Follow me," he said, voice deep, just as it had been on the phone yesterday, and she tripped after him, eyes glued to his broad shoulders. "There's a, uh, a gown for you to put on," he said, gesturing for her to enter the room. "My office is still so small, as is my practice, that you can just open the door when you've finished…" Did she imagine it or did his eyes fall over her? "Changing."

She nodded, being careful to not brush his body as she walked past him, and he closed the door behind her.

Her cheeks were burning hot. She felt like laughing and screaming and wailing all at once. First...it was Jim. Her eyes couldn't deceive her that much.

And yet he hadn't seemed to recognize her.

She slowly unbuttoned her dress, counting off the damning evidence. The coolness of his eyes. The purposeful stride. Surely...surely he would have done something upon reading her name...reacted. Asked her. He knew her full name, even if she didn't know his.

She reached a blind hand in back, panicking for a moment, wondering if she should remove her brassiere or not.

What would this physical examination entail?

She slipped it off, hiding it underneath the dress along with her slip and pulled the gown on, tying the ties tightly in front and perching on the edge of the examination table, before realizing that she'd need to open the door.

She'd never felt so scared in her life but she jumped up and threw it open before almost diving back to the table, forcing herself to sit up straight and fold her hands daintily in her lap before he reentered.

The room seemed a lot smaller with him inside it. He was looking down at the paper. "So we'll be looking for signs of pneumonia primarily today," he announced. "Since Rockland U merely wishes to ensure that you don't have it."

"Yes," she said, throat dry.

His blue eyes pierced her, traveling over her. The stethoscope around his neck caught her gaze and she forced her gaze back up to his face.

"I'll begin by seeing what your heart rate is," Dr. Clancy said, clearing his throat again, and she watched, wide eyed, as he placed the stethoscope in his ear and walked forward.

She turned her head away from him when he pressed it to her heart, knowing that her heart beat was escalating every second because of his proximity.

She could feel his gaze, hot on the top of her head, and she glanced down, seeing his fingers touching her chest.

"It's...elevated," he breathed, voice suddenly husky.

"My walk here was quite vigorous," she blurted, and he nodded, letting the stethoscope fall away.

"Open your mouth," he said, taking out a tongue depressor. "Say ah."

She opened her mouth, as his hands carefully placed the stick inside, looking at the back of her throat, nodding and seeming to mentally check something off.

"Turn around," he requested, and she did so, jumping a little when she felt his hands on her back. "I'm going to listen to your lungs now."

He started on her upper back, slowly moving across it, fingers gentle, touch light.

She felt herself straightening her back as he went as if in response to it, feeling a throb between her legs at his touch.

She hadn't intended on having a pelvic exam but she most definitely wasn't going to now.

His hands fell lower and she started to inhale, jumping when he stopped, and even more when his hand touched her shoulder.

"You need to have a normal breathing pattern," he said, voice gentle.

"Hmm?" She asked.

"Breathe out," he advised and she, blushing, let the air out of her lungs, and he resumed listening to them, his fingers and the stethoscope a constant pressure.

"I don't hear anything abnormal," he said, hands falling away as the stethoscope reached the bottom of her rib cage. "I'd clear you for pneumonia."

"Good," she said shakily, slowly turning around on the table.

His eyes were steady. He had a doctor's touch and vision.

Oh god. Jim had wanted to be a doctor. She knew that. She could never forget that. This man...he had to be Jim. There was no way around it.

And if there was...she didn't know what it was.

And if he was...why didn't he recognize her?

"Do you have any other questions?" He asked, all business. "Do you want a more thorough examination?"

Her throat hurt. She could feel tears well, humiliatingly, in her eyes.

What had she been to him? A fool? The one girl stupid enough to drop her dress to him?

"No," she whispered. "I suppose you'll sign something for me to give them."

"Yes, I can ready that for you," he said, looking down at the papers in his hands. "I'll leave you to get dressed."

* * *

He wasn't sure how he'd survived that.

Jim sagged against the wall outside, feeling his breath come fast and furiously.

She'd been so calm, almost stiff, needing a reminder to breathe.

She'd been so soft. Even though the stiff material of the gown, he'd felt the give of her skin.

When he'd taken her heart beat…stethoscope flat against her chest, fingers straining to wander lower...

Oh, there were other ways he'd like to take her pulse.

So many other ways that he'd prefer to that.

He blindly wrote out a doctor's note saying that she didn't have pneumonia, tensing when he heard the door open.

He handed her the slip of paper, watching how downcast her eyes were.

He had to.

He had to ask her. He had envisioned meeting her again thousands of times and in not one of those scenarios had they not ended up not intertwined, even in the ones where she was married.

And the word Gordon seemed to scream out to him, reminding him that she wasn't. That there should be nothing to hold him back.

And yet everything. It wasn't like she'd remember him. No matter what Mrs. Davis had said.

She was nearing the door and he spoke, almost forcing the words out.

"Miss Gordon?" He sounded panicked and she whirled around almost immediately, eyes wide, hands clinging to her purse.

"I'm sorry," he said, walking forward. He couldn't stop himself once he'd started; her body held a magnetic like pull on him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Did I say my full name? I don't think I did. Dr. James Clancy." He swallowed, holding his hand out. "Jim." He bit his tongue, forcing the rest of the sentence out as she stared at him, her hand slowly moving to meet his. "I think...I think we've met."

Her hand slid into his and he gasped at the touch, his hand totalling enveloping hers, covering it, holding it, never intending to let go.

"New York," he breathed. "Ten years ago. You were...you were a nightclub singer."

He could feel the pulse in her wrist spike at his words, and his own pulse spiked in return, as his hand remained over hers, holding hers, his fingers massaging her wrist.

Melinda looked up at him, eyes luminous. "And you were a bartender."


	9. Chapter 9

They'd said it. The words were out.

He remembered.

Melinda could have wept in relief, feeling her hand still caught in his, and she reluctantly pulled away, having no idea what she'd do if he continued to caress her like that.

Oh god.

The things they'd done. The state he'd seen her in. How...how had he been able to conduct the exam so calmly?

"It's been ten years," she said, voice cracking.

"It has," he said, folding his arms, hiding his hands from view.

"How has life treated you?" She wondered, and her mind thought up a new obstacle. Was he married? Some doctors didn't wear rings to examine people; it wasn't sanitary.

"Well," Jim said. "I...I went back to school. Obviously."

She smiled, true happiness at that statement. "That's wonderful," she breathed. "You spoke so passionately about it that night but you were so convinced that it was an impossible dream. That's very...inspiring, Dr. Clancy."

"You were…" He began and his voice trailed off. "That is. Yes, I did. And you?"

"Well, I went to college but I don't know if society calls any unmarried woman a success, so I don't know if that's good or not," Melinda laughed, feeling a bit like her usual self, wondering how he'd take the words.

"It is good," he said immediately, tone passionate; voice deep. "You, uh, you must have done well."

"I did," she said, the smile on her face growing. "Very well. I was head of my class."

"You knew how to work hard, uh, Miss Gordon," he said simply. "Very hard indeed."

She felt his gaze slide over her body, over the fitted house dress that she suddenly felt was too vampish to wear in front of him, in front of everyone. She could look down and see one button straining on her chest, probably just from how hard she was breathing, but what if he could see it too?

She thought she'd grown up, but she suddenly felt seventeen again, terrified and only wanting to fit in, be loved.

"I should be going," she said, feeling for the doorknob behind her. "It was lovely to see you again. Goodbye."

"Will I...see you around town?" He asked at the last moment.

She felt her spine straighten a little, wondering if she misread what she heard in his voice: hope.

"I expect you will," she breathed. "I hope so, at any rate."

He smiled, hesitant, and her own smile blossomed in return, slow and brilliant, before she slipped from the office back into the sunshine.

She felt short of breath and just a tad giddy, even with how nervous she was. Even with the fact that he could be married.

He'd looked at her, truly looked at her, as he had ten years ago.

And my god, that was better than anything.

* * *

She was radiant. Utterly beautiful. And she remembered.

Jim felt like sagging against the wall in relief, his heart pounding, his mouth dry.

It had been so good to see her again. To see how she'd grown and matured.

He walked back into his office, picking a medical textbook from the shelf. It was fat and hard in his grip; the pages were rough, he'd gotten it second hand. His hand on it slipped, remembering gripping Melinda's shoulders. Slim and giving. Soft and warm through the thin material of the gown. The push of her full breasts as he listened for her heartbeat.

No. No. he had to stop thinking like that.

He remembered her words, about being top of her class, feeling a burst of pride blossom in his heart. She had done well for herself. She had fully escaped from the snares of men like Kevin, she was unmarried, she had built a life for herself out of nothing, from the bottom she'd climbed up. And that was very admirable, and especially attractive to Jim, who'd done the same.

Because of her. Because he'd met her and realized that if there was a better way that life could go for her, there was a better way it could go for him.

He thought of why she'd needed the examination; to get the job at Rockland U, she'd had to have proof that she didn't have pneumonia.

Well, she had very healthy lungs. Very responsive.

He blinked, freezing a little as he remembered, lips parting. Too responsive, almost.

He really hoped that her job turned out well; it was as assistant to a professor, he thought. He hoped that the man hadn't accepted female candidates just so that he could have someone to chase around his desk.

Because, honestly, Melinda deserved better than that.

He moved behind his deck, sinking into the seat and putting his feet up. At times like this, he usually wished for a patient to fill his day...or several.

But right now, his mind was wandering and it was more than a good thing that he didn't have patients to see because, where his mind was at, he wouldn't really see them anyway.

* * *

Melinda walked back to Rockland U, presented the certification and was, thankfully, directed to Professor Eli James' office.

She stood outside for a moment, hoping that this would be a good job. That everything would turn out right.

And then she knocked.

"Just a minute," came a voice inside; higher than Jim's, more nasal, and then the door was torn open by a very frazzled looking man. "Hello, what can I do for you?" He asked. "Come in. Don't mind me. I just need to find something."

His office was in shambles.

Melinda repressed a chuckle, looking at the lanky and frazzled man in front of her. "I could help," she said.

His gaze shot over her; the housedress that she realized she should have changed out of. "I don't think so," he said simply.

"No, I'm your new assistant," Melinda explained hurriedly. "Melinda Gordon."

"Oh!" He exclaimed, jerking to stare at her again, raking a hand over his unkempt hair. "Um, I did not expect you so soon. My office is a mess and I am not prepared to train you."

"I don't need training," Melinda said. "I know what the job entails, and I've done it before."

"Well, missy, er, Miss Gordon," Professor James said. "You don't know how I like my coffee. Although you're right. What are you here for if not to clean my office?"

Melinda froze. "I'm here to help you teach," she stammered. "That's what the job description said. Uh, a teacher's aide. Help you in the classroom."

"Oh, no, Miss Gordon," Professor James replied. "I couldn't let a little thing like you out there. No, I just want you as my...my aide. My secretary."

"That's not what the...that's not what I applied for," Melinda said, voice just a bit panicked. "I can do much more than that. I can be much more useful to you."

"I don't need help in the classroom, Miss Gordon," he said in frustration. "I don't even teach that much, I just guest lecture a few times a month. I'm a doctor of psychiatry. I hired you to—to open my mail, make my coffee and—and clean my office."

"That is not what I was told the job entailed," Melinda hedged.

"Then go," Professor James said, brushing her off. "I can get better help but good luck finding a job in this town that pays better for such short hours, especially in this depression. Where is my file?"

He placed his hands on his head, almost shrieking the last words.

She stood there for another long moment, blinking back frustrated tears, trying to remember what exactly the letter had said...what the job she'd applied for was.

But she wasn't even sure she had the letter anymore; in the mess of moving, everything got jumbled around. She'd gotten rid of so much.

Why would she have kept that? When she already had the job? A perfect, wonderful job.

A job that wasn't perfect or wonderful.

Professor James looked around his office in a daze.

"What are you looking for?" She asked, taking off her hat.

His eyes ghosted over the tight bun high on her neck. "You don't cut your hair like the flapper girls do," he said abstractly.

"We're past the age of flappers, aren't we?" Melinda asked. "What are you looking for?"

His eyes narrowed. "A file," he said. "One of my patients, a Clyde Barry. It should have his name on the outside."

Melinda looked around as he bounced around his office, having utterly no luck.

It was then that she saw a file peeking from behind a bookcase, the letter 'y' sticking out at her.

She walked up and plucked it up, ably handing it to him. "There," she said, at that moment determining that, if it was a secretary/maid/office keeper than Eli James needed, then she would be the best one possible.

Because god knew, he was right about not being able to find another job.

"Does that mean you accept the job on these terms?" He asked, staring at the file as if it didn't exist.

"Yes," she said, speaking the words still burning her pride and her throat.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Terms as stated, you'll be paid every two weeks."

"Yes," Melinda said.

"And one other thing," he said. "I had an open position because the past three women who have held your position have left me high and dry to get married." His eyes, unusually sharp, pierced her. "If you start to let a man seriously court you, or whatever they call it now, I might fire you, Miss Gordon, before it starts to affect your work."

Taken aback, Melinda couldn't speak for a moment.

"And you might as well tell me now if you have a sweetheart," he said. "Before it's too late and I need to hire someone else."

She bit her lip. "No," she said. "No sweetheart."

"And any men coming to call?" Professor James asked.

She thought of Jim, of cool blue eyes and big hands, heavy on her shoulders. She swallowed a little.

"No, but if there was, if I promised to not let it affect my work—"

"You can't keep that promise," he said dryly. "Listen, I don't care if you do have one. I'm just saying that you might lose your job over it because I can't handle another moony girl running out on me, leaving me high and dry and looking for files that...that they would have found in a second."

He sighed, glancing at her.

"Do I start work now?" Melinda asked. "I wasn't expecting to, I'm not dressed for it and I had plans."

"Do what you need to do," he said, now a little grumpy, showing that he had, indeed, hoped for her to stay around. "I need to see my patient."

"I could...clean up a bit before I go," Melinda said. "If you need me to."

Those words burned her even more.

This wasn't supposed to be the job. She wasn't supposed to be his maid.

"Fine," he said, tossing her a key. "Lock up when you're gone. Steal anything...I will know."

He left the office then, a rather dramatic exit, and then dashed back in a moment later. "I forgot my hat," he mumbled and left again.

Melinda bit her lip, looking around her. First things first. The bookshelves. Surely she didn't think herself above this sort of work. She didn't. Of course she wouldn't. Everyone should be able to and welcome menial labor. To be able to lift things, well, some people were paralyzed with polio. And there were definitely girls her age who would jump at a job opportunity like this.

So why did it make her want to cry? Why was it that every time she looked around her, seeing what her future was as Professor James' slave she bit back a sob?

She was supposed to be able to do more. Become a teacher herself one day, despite the fact that she'd never once seen a female professor; she'd stopped having female teachers in high school.

She'd remembered something about the world, something cruel that she'd forgotten in the few moments of Jim Clancy looking into her eyes this morning.

That if something were impossible for most people, why would she be an exception?

She was a fool to think that she could make something of herself in this field. A damn fool.


	10. Chapter 10

The world was alive with the wonder of being.

Jim locked his office early and walked home whistling, feeling like the world was twice as vibrant as it had been yesterday because the impossible had happened and it was better than he could ever have anticipated or dreamed of.

He was in love. Totally and completely in love. And it was with a woman he hadn't seen in ten years but good god, that they were meeting again now, that he'd been thinking of her all this time, that the world had brought them together again...that had to mean something.

And he already knew what it meant for him. He knew that there was no way he'd ever let her slip away again, through carelessness or dismissal of what she meant to him because she meant everything to him and he knew that now.

The day was almost as hot as it had been yesterday; he pulled off his jacket, remembering the woman yesterday, feeling his face flush. Could that have been Melinda? Surely they weren't two women in town with...figures as perfect as that.

He carefully folded his jacket over his arm, feeling how sore his neck and shoulders were from bending over a book all day. He needed some rest, but he felt like going home would only make him daydream about Melinda even more.

He truly wanted to see her again.

Mrs. Davis was outside gardening when he got home, startled as he came up the walk. "Still not patients?" She asked, tutting her tongue. "You need to work harder."

"I'd never say no to that," Jim sighed, settling on the front steps and slowly unbuttoning his cuffs to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "It's hot out," he commented, using his hat to fan his face.

"Indeed," Mrs. Davis commented. "I just need to finish this weeding; it's going to rain tonight and I don't want them here for it."

"Do you want help?" He asked, ready to go in and get changed, but she was shaking her head, smiling at him.

"Gardening makes my soul sing," she sighed. "Even with this creaky old back, I love working in my garden."

"Do you want me to make dinner?" He asked and she hiked a brow at him.

"I'm the one getting paid for it, just go change," she scolded.

He chuckled, loud and long. "Fine," he said. "Don't accept any help."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, wiping sweat from her wrinkled brow. "You seem unnaturally cheerful after yesterday," she said. "How pretty was your female patient?"

"You won't even believe it," Jim hedged, his smile growing ever bigger.

"Oh?" She asked, one eyebrow raising even higher. "Don't be unprofessional, Jim."

"I won't, and I wasn't," Jim enthused, knowing he could be honest with her. "I would never let myself do that. But Mrs. Davis... " He licked his lips, feeling his voice drop an octave. "It was her."

"You can't be serious," she chuckled.

"I am serious, and I don't quite believe it myself," he said, joy in his voice, something that made her pause and take note, believe him. "It was her. It was Melinda and she...she was beautiful, Mrs. Davis. Just as I remembered and yet somehow more and even better. My heart skipped a beat to see her and I just couldn't believe how good it was and she was real," he repeated.

"My lord, you're being serious," Mrs. Davis said in awe.

"Yes!" Jim exclaimed. "It's unbelievable but I saw her, I touched her and it wasn't a dream."

He remembered his dream from the night before, slowly covering his mouth, hiding the flush spreading on his cheeks, remembering just how he'd dreamed her to be last night. And their meeting today had been nothing like that...but it was better. It was better because of course Melinda would have grown up, would have been different, hesitant, wide eyed...cautious, she'd learned caution in the past ten years and Jim's heart warmed to think of that.

He licked his lips again; they felt too dry, and his mouth felt dry and his face felt hot and Mrs. Davis jokingly placed a hand on his forehead. "Are you coming down with something?" She asked, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

"No, I'm fine," Jim assured her. "Just fine. Better than ever."

"You're quite hot," Mrs. Davis cautioned.

Jim let another grin curve his lips, wider than the first. "You can't believe how good this makes me feel," he said. "Mrs. Davis...she wasn't married." He could just imagine how he looked; so excited he'd look slightly mad, waving his hands, joy in his voice as he told her everything. "She wasn't married. And I wondered...wished...hoped…" He wet his lips again, until Mrs. Davis handed him a glass of water.

"There, if you're so thirsty," she said in exasperation.

"I felt…" Jim began, pushing the words out, because voicing them, just voicing them, seemed like it would raise his already ridiculous hopes. "Like she had been waiting for me too. Like…"

His voice trailed off. "And she was smiling," he said a moment later. "Smiling at me. Asking me questions like she was interested…"

"You're head over heels already," Mrs. Davis chuckled.

"I know," he said, blushing even more, covering his face. "I'm being ridiculous."

"But maybe not that ridiculous, you said it yourself," she said, her hand still resting on his head; a very maternal touch, one that made Jim almost reach up and take her hand in his because his mother had been gone for so, so long. "Maybe she was waiting. Like I said yesterday, a woman doesn't forget a man like...like you."

There was silence. He rested there, quiet, watching as the world moved; little boys were racing past, playing games; kick the can, it looked like, and he momentarily wanted to go and play with them, go back in time to his childhood, go back to when things were easy.

But things were never easy.

Even Melinda...had held back so much today.

He had to make sure he didn't lose her again.

He could hear the sound of the piano being played; the woman next door offered lessons but her students weren't usually this good.

He could smell the neighborhood's dinners baking and stewing.

He could feel Mrs. Davis's hand, light on his head, before she pulled away and walked inside.

This was what he'd always wanted. Yet even now that Melinda was here, alive, beautiful, single, he could still feel an unrest. Dan.

He had a feeling, however, that that part of his past he'd never be done with.

* * *

Melinda spent the whole morning cleaning up his office, trying to slog through the piles and piles of papers there, finding it hard to believe that he'd had a secretary or assistant recently because the place was an utter mess.

The bookshelf was the only thing left even vaguely untouched and even then, she could tell that the books weren't in order at all. There were novels next to textbooks; a mug of unfinished tea on one shelf and a half finished sandwich on another, something she shuddered to touch as she dropped it into the trash can.

She finally got used to it, slipping her heels off, getting on her hands and knees to clear the papers, fighting back any stray emotions. She would live past it. She wouldn't have to do any of it forever.

She just had to remember that.

She got to her feet when she heard footsteps, grabbed her heels and slid the pumps back onto her feet, feeling yesterday's blister throb. She'd forgotten to ask Dr. Clancy about that. Jim. She'd forgotten to do a lot of things after speaking to him.

Professor James finally burst in, slamming the door open. "Oh," he said, stopping stock still almost comically. "You're still here."

"Yes," she said, confused, and he shrugged.

"I didn't think you'd stay," he said, reassessing her. "It looks...tidy. I'm impressed."

She just nodded, not really happy to get his approval, since that wasn't what the problem was here. "Do I pass?" She wondered aloud, not quite realizing she'd spoken aloud until it was too late.

"Pardon?" He asked.

"Do I pass your standards?" She said, edging towards the door.

"By tidy up a little, I thought you meant pick up one thing," he said, looking up at her. "You cleaned the whole damn...darn office. Sorry. My mouth runs away from me sometimes." He cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to be so brusque earlier. I just get hurried and I haven't had someone to help in weeks...I can't handle being a professor without someone keeping me on track."

And that wasn't supposed to be her job. It was most definitely not what she had applied for at all. "I'm glad you're satisfied," she said softly, ducking her head.

"I'd be happy to raise your wages if you continue doing such a good job," he said. "Your other duties would include dictation...keeping track of my schedule, fetching things as I need them, delivering notes to other professors…" He trailed off, looking up at her. "Making an occasional pot of tea?" And there was just this note of vulnerability in his voice, he was pleading for someone to help him through this crazy thing people called life, asking her to help him, lend a hand. And he was going to pay and Melinda could feel some shattered part of her heart slowly mend. She'd made false assumptions; she'd been the foolish girl that she'd thought she'd outgrown, dreaming of things that were beyond her reach.

And there was nothing wrong with cleaning or making pots of tea for lonely professors. It just wasn't what she had planned to do with her life. Ever.

"I accept those terms," Melinda said softly.

His lips crinkled into something that she would have called a smile on anyone else. "Well, you can go now, I suppose," he said, waving his hand. "Here. I can give you something for staying today, since I don't think you intended to."

"No, it's fine," she said, before realizing that maybe she did need the money. "Something would be nice," she relented, forcing her pride down.

He handed her a few bills, and she bit her lip before taking them.

"When do you want me here tomorrow?" She wondered, poised for flight by the door.

"Nine," he said. "Or earlier, but not later."

"Do I get time for lunch?" She asked, looking at her feet.

"Yes," he said. "An hour, or more if I'm going out with colleagues."

She nodded thoughtfully, her mind inexplicably shooting to the thought of going out to lunch herself one day, what she'd do with that hour…

And somehow, her mind went to Jim. Somehow, her mind went to a blue sky, clouds, a picnic lunch, laying on their backs gazing at the world around them. Suddenly he was turning to face her, eyes bluer than the sky somehow, smile wide on his face; this was the real Jim with all the new muscles and wrinkles that ten years had given him. The smile lines around his eyes were deeper, and the curve on his cheeks as he smiled didn't quite fade and it made her stomach stir to think of, and she jerked out of her reverie just as his mouth neared hers, just as he placed his hand over her face, pulled her in.

And Eli was just staring at her. "Any other questions?" He finally asked.

"No," she said, flushing, breathless. "No, I don't think so. Um. There is one. When would I get off?"

"No later than five-thirty, but usually earlier," he said, shoving hands into his pockets. "So we're agreed."

"Yes," she said, and he, flushing, pulled one hand from his pocket.

"Let's shake on it, make a deal," he said. "I just...can't lose another assistant. I'll go crazy."

"Understood," she said, and slowly stuck her hand out to meet his.

His palms were clammy and he had a limp handshake, hesitant. But somehow she approved of his mind a bit more now that he'd explained a few things.

Even if this wasn't what she wanted. Even if her heart ached as she left his office, chin held high, trying to keep herself together. It was like being promised champagne and being given water in return.

There was nothing wrong with water.

But anyone could choke on it if they'd been expecting champagne. 


	11. Chapter 11

Melinda got home to find Delia in the kitchen, humming as she listened to the radio; the news was on.

"Good news?" Melinda wondered, slipping her shoes off.

"Not really, but I'm not worried yet," Delia said, snapping it off. "How was your day?"

Melinda considered the question, realizing that she hadn't asked Jim about her blister. "I'm not sure," she sighed. "I have a blister and I was going to ask the doctor about it." She felt her cheeks heat, knowing that she was showing all of her emotions from the day.

"What happened that you forgot?" Delia wondered, walking over. "Here, let me see it."

"Oh, no," Melinda began, but Delia was rinsing her hands off and taking Melinda's foot in her hands, looking at it.

"My, your feet are so small compared to mine, but I have a good eight inches on you, I'd wager," Delia said. "So what happened?"

Melinda felt a smile on her face. "Well...it sounds so wild, I hesitate to say, but...it was him."

"Him? Who was who?" Delia asked. "Oh, you popped the blister."

"Yes, unfortunately," Melinda sighed. "It hurts like the devil."

"I'll clean it," Delia said. "Don't try to stop me, I'd do this for most anyone who needed it."

"Thank you," Melinda began.

"Him who?" Delia urged, grabbing a few things from under the sink.

"The boy...the man I knew, the one I met ten years ago," Melinda whispered. "The one I knew for six weeks, the reason that I never...I never married."

To admit that out loud felt weighted. It felt like she was settling on something, declaring it all.

She had loved him all those years ago. And she'd been, consciously or not, waiting for him to find her again; there was something in her heart that had prevented her from letting herself fall for someone else, like Rick, until it had found Jim again; until it could stop crying out to see him again, settle her feelings for him.

"What?" Delia gasped. "You did what?" Her hands stilled for a moment, before moving again, carefully cleaning it and placing a bandage on it.

"I met him, he was the doctor," she whispered, her cheeks even warmer now. "He was...he was so impressive. Tall and blue eyed, like he was ten years ago." She pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying to calm herself; she hadn't been able to really think about him all afternoon as she cleaned Professor James' office, and now…She couldn't stop. She utterly couldn't stop.

"And was he married?" Delia wondered. "Has he been waiting for you all these years? Oh my goodness, has he? This is so romantic." Her brown eyes shone at Melinda, she was grinning from ear to ear. "You're going to get a second shot at true love."

"That might be an exaggeration," Melinda said, ducking her head, but she was remembering how he'd looked at her this afternoon and she so wanted to believe Delia's words. "I don't know if he was married. He could have been." She shook her head. "He probably was."

"Dr. James Clancy, the new one," Delia mused. "Yes?"

"Yes," Melinda whispered, reflecting on his last name, and how the words Melinda Clancy would sound. Oh, it made her heart beat faster.

"He's single," Delia said. "And that's why he hasn't had many patients yet; people aren't yet convinced it won't be a scandal to see him. Besides, there's the old doctors that no one wants to betray."

She had finished with Melinda's foot, and Melinda cautiously stood on it; it felt better. "Thank you," she said, and Delia was already standing up. "Dinner will be ready soon," she said, smiling. "I've got it all in hand, and I cherish this time alone, so you can run along outside or to your room."

"Alright," Melinda said, dimpling, going to her room; pulling her watch and necklace off, and then wandering outside; Katie and Ned were seated on the front steps of the porch and she was about to go back inside and leave them to their conversation when Katie looked up and saw Melinda there; she smiled and spoke.

"Melinda! Come out, please!" Katie greeted, standing up and taking Melinda's hand in her own to tug her onto the porch. "I'm so glad to finally meet a career woman," she said, eyes glowing. "I'd begun to think they didn't exist."

Melinda chuckled, feeling warm inside, sitting on the steps next to them. Ned was also smiling, a dimple showing in his cheek.

"I'm glad I meet your expectations," she said.

"You do," Katie said. "You're so trim and well dressed, just like the girls in the movies."

"Thank you," Melinda said, still grinning. "And you two are the very picture of high school sweethearts."

"Yes, but thankfully we're done with high school," Katie said. "Ned is working at the newspaper, and I'm working at the hospital." She smiled at her sweetheart, leaning into him. "We're trying to save up money, to get married. Since we can't ask either of our families."

"I'm glad you're saving up," Melinda said. "That's a good plan, save a little before you marry."

Katie nodded. "Especially because I probably won't be able to work after we do, or not as much," she said. "Most people aren't glad to hear it."

"What do you mean?" Melinda wondered.

"That I'm working at all," Katie said, a frown on her face. "My f-everyone says that Ned should be able to make enough but it's hard. Especially in this depression."

Ned was quiet, holding his sweetheart's hand.

"And I was so excited," Katie said, her voice getting more lively. "To hear about you. And I'd love some advice. I need to know what field I'd do best in, what field is most welcoming. I might still go to school; should I become a nurse or a teacher?" She was biting her lip. "I'd make more doing either of those, but it's hard to get hired as a married teacher, yet a nurse would take longer."

Melinda felt like such a huge hypocrite; she didn't have the career that Katie obviously thought she did, but she carefully considered Katie's words, thinking of friends she had.

"I would do what I wanted more," she finally settled on. "Because there will always be disappointments. You'll never quite get the job you want, nor the one you deserve. So you should do the job you know that you'll be happier doing. The one you could still be doing years from now if you have to go back to work." Her gaze landed on Ned, voice softening. "For whatever reason."

"It makes sense, what she says," Ned said, squeezing Katie's hand; eyes gentle. "You should do what you'll be happy doing."

"Well, I'd like both," Katie said. "I don't know." She sighed. "Thank you, Miss Gordon. It is good advice, I just don't know my own mind well enough for it to do much good."

"Well, if you want to be practical and get it done faster, become a teacher," Melinda said. "But if you ultimately think you won't be happy teaching, become a nurse."

"I guess thinking about it is required," Katie laughed.

"Are you staying for dinner, Katie?" Delia asked, poking her head out the front door. "You're welcome to, you know."

"No, father wants me home early," Katie replied. "But thank you, Mrs. Banks."

"Of course," Delia said. "Anytime you can stay, just say so."

"I should be walking you home then, it's getting late," Ned said, standing up and extending his hand for Katie; he was such a serious boy, so careful of her.

She wasn't fragile, though, Melinda saw quite clearly. She had a hidden, steely strength to her that Melinda herself wanted, very much.

Because if this day had proved anything, it was that she needed to grow up more.

* * *

That night, Melinda took a bath, taking her time in the tub since Ned and Delia had both already gone to bed.

She leaned back, feeling a stray tear slip down her cheek, again remembering that terrible moment in Professor James' office.

This was her life now. After years of planning, after years of being sure that she'd be the one to make it, she was stuck in the same cycle.

She wanted to go back to a better time but the funny thing was, there really hadn't been one. Her childhood had been fine and she had fond memories, especially of her grandmother, but it hadn't, overall, been a truly happy time.

And her teenage years were alright; she'd had a few close friends in school and then it had all just come to a halt with Kevin.

And then Jim.

But even those six weeks with Jim weren't happy. They were miserable and nervewracking because she wasn't with Jim, she was with Kevin, being forced into all sorts of miserable situations.

Jim had been a light, but even he hadn't fully illuminated her life.

And then after. College had been wonderful.

Most of the time.

She brought her knees into her chest, leaning her chin on her wet knees, crying more now. Some of her happiest moments were from college, with friends, in class, doing what she did best, being smart and mostly celebrated for her brain and her wit and her spirit rather than her body.

Most of the time.

There had been those professors. The ones who laughed. The ones who ignored her. The ones who graded her papers lower because they wanted their highest students to be men.

There had been male students who blatantly ogled, who would drive themselves to distraction if she wore anything but sweaters to class.

She wasn't that student. She wasn't like Leila Palmer, who wore tight sweaters and shorter dresses...but neither did she think that Leila was wrong. She just thought that the boys should be able to keep their minds on their work no matter what the women in class with them were wearing.

Because it had been established that they, too, had a right to be there.

She sighed, and the water was getting cold, and she slowly stood up, wrapping a towel around herself.

She was walking back to her bedroom when it happened, and she froze in terror, hearing voices. An argument.

She listened carefully, trying to track the conversation, padding into the living room and the kitchen door was open; she could see Ned on the porch and she stepped forward and then stopped herself, seeing them through the window.

Katie was with him. And as she watched, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her so deeply and intimately that Melinda knew exactly why they were doing this in the dead of night.

She melted back into the shadows, transfixed for a moment by how Ned's arms wrapped around her, by how he lifted her into his arms, how Katie's legs were wrapping around his waist.

And she remembered. Doing things like that with Kevin, usually in his car. She remembered the heat.

But when she heard Katie's moan, she knew that this was nothing like she'd ever experienced with Kevin if she was getting pleasure from it.

And her mind shot straight to Jim as she quickly turned around, seeing Ned's hands going to Katie's sweater, pulling it over her head as Melinda escaped back to her bedroom, pacing a little, throwing on her nightgown and getting into bed.

And her mind was spinning, changing what she'd seen, turning it into herself and Jim. Jim as he was now, arms bigger, shoulders so impossibly wide, body so protective.

She imagined being held by him, him sheltering her, cradling her so tenderly.

She imagined feeling as she had with him ten years ago. As Katie was feeling now.

A stray moan escaped from the porch; Melinda flushed a little and held her pillow over her ears, not because she disapproved, but because it wasn't meant for her ears.

But really, they should be quieter, more careful.

Even if she knew that if it was Jim on the porch...if it was her…

God knew, she'd wake the whole neighborhood.


	12. Chapter 12

Melinda had always thought that working in a university would be wonderful, surrounded by the academia and students who wanted to learn.

She was wrong.

Professor James was a complete mess, and no matter how many times she straightened and restructured his office, she'd come in the next day to find it a mess again.

Which didn't make sense to her, since he usually left before her. Did he truly come back at night and just mess it up?

The answer came to her one day when one of his patients stumbled into the office, wild and distraught, needing to speak to Dr. James.

And Melinda's heart softened, for a brief moment, to learn the lengths he went to for his patients.

"He always comes back in to help me," the girl managed to say. "Even at night."

Her eyes were wild, and she was nervously twisting her hands together. "Where is he?"

"He had a lunch meeting," Melinda explained, her fingers poised over the typewriter in front of her, trying to read through his scrawl enough to get this letter done. "With the board of directors."

"Tell him Fiona came by," the girl finally said, her skirt fluttering in the breeze that swept through the window. "Please."

"Of course," Melinda said, already noting the message on a little notepad she'd bought for this purpose.

He had a surprising amount of visitors, and the spectrum of normal to a little crazy never failed to surprise Melinda.

He was, after all, a psychiatrist.

She stood up as Fiona left, straightening her own dress and adjusting the belt a little. Delia had packed her an egg salad sandwich, wrapped neatly in wax paper, with an orange on the side.

She idly peeled the orange, watching the window. She had letters to complete, and his file cabinet was, as usual, in utter disarray.

But she wanted to enjoy the day. It had, for once, cooled a bit; the sun's rays were friendly instead of menacing and the breeze sweeping through the trees was a balm to her flustered soul.

She closed her eyes and breathed in, trying again to adjust herself to this new life, to her new reality.

Trying to realize that just because she hadn't chosen this life didn't mean it couldn't have its own blessings for her.

She hoped it would.

She prayed it would.

* * *

Jim woke up one day to realize that he'd double booked himself, something he didn't think possible.

He'd rolled over in bed, taken his daily planner off of the nightstand and opened it, only to realize that there were two patients scheduled for nine o'clock.

He lay back in bed, a little shocked, thinking back to yesterday's afternoon, answering the phone after an appointment with an injured carpenter.

Things were looking up.

It was like Melinda coming back into his life had actually changed things. The thought of her had always been a motivator, some kind of charm to keep him moving forward, and now that she was back in his life, barely (had he even seen her since that day?) it was like her visit had charmed his practice, charmed the people in town to begin to grudgingly consider him as a third option.

Or even a first option. He'd somehow won over a housewife with seven children, and she was taking her time bringing in each child with some new ailment or scraped knee, and he knew that she'd keep his appointment book busy for months.

Or even years, he considered, laughing a bit to remember Nick's latest mishap: the nine year old boy had fallen from a tree and sprained his wrist.

He imagined that these were antics that Nick would be up to for quite a while.

Jim lay back on the bed, watching the breeze ripple the curtains, sighing a bit. It was promising to be such a nice day, and he had no one to spend it with. After his morning appointments he didn't have anything until the afternoon, and his heart longed for a person to spend lunch with; today was the perfect day for a picnic.

But there was literally no person in Grandview that he knew that well yet.

Sighing again, he got out of bed, knowing that he had to shower and shave before he started his day.

He leaned over the sink, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, body lean and tall. Surely he still looked okay...was that a gray hair?

He shook the thought aside, wondering what Melinda had thought of him. Maybe she'd feared that he hadn't changed a bit, that he was still a boy masquerading as a man.

He closed his eyes, washing his face with cold water, slipping his boxers off and getting into the shower, feeling the water that never quite got hot pour from the showerhead, washing his body clean with a bar of soap, one that slid from his hands after a few minutes.

No.

No, he couldn't let himself go there, he reflected, reaching around himself to wash his back, get his shoulders, swipe down his legs.

The bar of soap again slid away, as did his mind.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the water, thinking of Melinda as she'd been ten years ago, slim and forced into clothes that didn't fit; he wondered if he'd ever even seen her smile.

The thought paused all erotic imaginings, as the reality crashed back into him that she was more than a fancy now, she was a human being, and one that he really wanted to have in his life.

Had he ever seen her smile? More than the stiff one she gave the crowd.

Had he heard her laugh?

Had she heard his?

It began to occur to him that they really hadn't known much about each other at all, but their connection had been so strong, it had kept up all these years...at least on his end.

Maybe she'd only remembered when he'd mentioned it.

God, this was going to drive him crazy. All he wanted was to see her again, and he knew where she worked, but it would be crazy to go to Dr. James' office just to see her.

And what if she didn't want to see him?

And he just didn't have a reason to be there...beyond her.

Was that reason enough? Was seeing her a good enough reason to give her?

He stepped from the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, again staring at himself in the mirror.

He wanted to see her again.

* * *

"It's a chicken sandwich with tomato and mayonnaise," Delia said, handing Melinda a square wrapped in brown wax paper, as always. "Try to eat it outside, it's almost criminal to waste this gorgeous weather."

She bustled back to the stove, stirring her oatmeal before turning back to the kitchen counter where the fixings for a sandwich for Ned were laid out; he was getting the same thing Melinda was. Melinda's heart warmed to think that Delia was literally mothering her. "By the by, Melinda," Delia began, voice chatty. "Have you seen that doctor much?"

"I haven't seen him at all," Melinda confessed.

Delia's eyebrows shot up. "But his office is so close by," she said. "How could you waste this opportunity?"

"I'm scared," Melinda said outright, and Delia's face softened.

"Oh, darling," she whispered. "If he remembered you, like you said he did, then it's worth a chance. And he wasn't wearing a ring." She pointed her oatmeal spoon at Melinda, shaking it a bit. "And that says even more, seeing as how I got a glimpse of him and a man that handsome is single for a reason."

Melinda laughed in spite of herself, taking a sip of milk as Delia dished her up a bowl of oatmeal, sprinkling brown sugar on top.

The Banks certainly weren't rich, but Delia truly knew how to stretch a dollar, and how to make the most of what she had.

She was literally the best cook that Melinda had ever encountered, and what she could do on such a sparse budget amazed Melinda.

Take the chicken sandwich; that chicken had already been Sunday dinner, Monday's lunch and Tuesday's lunch, and after today (Thursday) Delia would boil the bones and it would be warm soup for Saturday.

Melinda stood up, finishing the oatmeal. "You know, I really ought to pay you more for the food, considering that it's really not just meals you're giving me," she said. "It's one thing to cook for a boarder; you treat me like a daughter."

Delia smiled, bustling around the room. "Exactly," she said. "And I would never ask a daughter to pay, so you shan't give me another penny. Even with your fancy job at the university."

"I told you," Melinda said, scuffing her foot on the floor. "It isn't. I thought it was, and it's just secretarial."

"It's something to be proud of anyway," Delia said. "You're making your own money, and keeping yourself up in high style." She smiled at Melinda's dress, and Melinda just shook her head. "It's not about the title," she finally finished, coming to cover Melinda's hand with her own. "Or about the fact that you're not making as much as you frankly should be. It's disappointing, yes. But you're independent." She raised an eyebrow at Melinda. "Aren't you?"

"Yes," Melinda agreed. "I make enough to be independent."

"And isn't that enough?" Delia asked. "Isn't enough maybe even better than more than I need because life is better when you have what you need, and not things beyond it."

"Well, I suppose," Melinda said, knowing that she agreed with Delia. "But I was hoping for more than one dress, and I don't know, I wanted something fancy but I don't...don't make enough."

"Then save your money," Delia said practically. "And it'll mean all the more when you have enough."

Melinda found that she was laughing, relishing how nothing, absolutely nothing, could stand in the way of Delia's positivity.

She left the house in higher spirits than she'd expected, skipping down the street; she'd also gotten new shoes, at least, and these ones didn't leave blisters.

* * *

**"Jim!"**

The word startled Jim, and his heart momentarily seized, because there were so few people now who called him that, ones that he'd hoped to not see again, ones that he'd purposefully left behind.

Friends. Family.

Jim bit his lip, turning around and his breath finally came again, seeing Matt walk through the door; the carpenter he'd helped yesterday.

"Well, Dr. Clancy," Matt amended. "I just wanted to say thank you," he said, glancing around the bare office. "No patients?"

"It's a slow day," Jim chuckled, never minding the fact that today, in fact, had been one of the busiest days he'd had so far.

"You did a good job, I've had no problems," Matt said. "This is already healing much better than it did when old Dr. Hardy helped, and Dr. Bell is booked from here til Christmas, and it's useless to go him in a crisis anyway; the man can't keep a cool head."

"Well, thanks," Jim managed.

Matt smiled. "Can I call you Jim?" He asked. "I asked around and you've had this practice for almost a few months now, yet you still aren't getting a steady business." He shook his head. "It makes no sense to me."

"Word of mouth hasn't caught up yet," Jim admitted.

"Have you had slower days than this?" Matt wondered.

Jim nodded slowly and Matt whistled. "I'd have have to close by now, man," he said.

"Small towns are hard to start a practice in," Jim said. "I had a nest egg; I was prepared for some slow months."

"Well, I hope things start looking up," Matt said, and clapped his uninjured hand on Jim's shoulder. "And I intend to help with that as much as possible. You know, a little more socialization would probably help. The fair is this weekend. Go, sample every woman's pies. Not only are they good, they'll greatly appreciate it."

Jim chuckled. "Well, maybe I will," he hedged and Matt nodded.

"You really should," he said. "You're a good doctor; I wouldn't like to see you go."

Jim just nodded, and watched Matt leave.

The fair. He had seen signs around for it, hadn't he? They'd just flown past his mind, but now…

Jim decided, in an instant, that he was going, and that going might very well require a new suit; he only had work clothes, and his church suit, and he needed something in between.

Besides, there was a dance coming up too.

He needed something appropriate for the summer weather.

He was closing the office early.

He was opening the door, locking it behind him, heading out into the gorgeous summer air.

It was just past five; he usually stayed until six just in case, but just in case didn't exist today.

He was halfway down the street when he saw Melinda, coming home from work; the first time their walks had coincided.

She caught his eye, immediately, his gaze lingering again on the trim ankles over her heeled feet.

He wanted her...in his life.

This should be a turning point, he should go and speak to her.

But it was already too late.


	13. Chapter 13

Melinda rolled awake, feeling stiff and tired in the cooler morning air.

The day would be hot, she could already tell, and it was Saturday.

She yawned, sitting up in bed, stretching her arms over her head, letting her nightgown flutter in the breeze.

There was a knock on her door, and before she could react, Delia was poking her head in. "I'm sorry," she said, obviously not truly remorseful; the woman's eyes were twinkling. "But today is the fair and I need your help."

The words immediately shot through Melinda's mind, she was bolting out of bed.

Someone needed her help.

She loved being needed. Almost as much as she loved being wanted.

She tied a robe around herself, yawning again as she got the words out. "With what?"

"My pies," Delia sighed. "I left them out on the porch to cool and someone snitched them in the night." She plonked hands on her generous hips, glaring a little, the closest to angry that Melinda had ever seen her. "I bet it was that Mrs. Davis. She's always trying—and failing, mind you—to best me."

"Well, I don't know how to cook," Melinda said, a bit lost.

"You don't have to," Delia said. "Just follow my lead. It's three pies, I just need help rolling them out because I'm short on time."

"Of course," Melinda said.

"So get dressed," Delia told her. "Wear something old; you'll have time to change into something pretty, don't worry."

"Change for what?" Melinda asked.

"For the fair, silly," Delia said. "There's no way I'm letting you stay home and miss all the festivities!"

"Oh!" Melinda exclaimed, as Delia bustled out of the bedroom, feeling herself panic a little as she hurriedly shimmied into older clothes and brushed her hair back, tying it with a ribbon before dashing after Delia. "I don't want to go to the fair," she explained, as Delia bustled around the kitchen; she had a pot of fruit furiously bubbling on the stove.

"Wash your hands first, please, dear," Delia said, getting out a second rolling pin. "And of course you want to go to the fair, silly."

"Stop calling me silly," Melinda said, washing her hands clean.

"Oh, well," Delia said, patting Melinda's arm. "I'm sorry, but why don't you want to go to the fair?"

"Because it's—"

The words stilled in her mouth, as she watched what Delia was doing; rolling out a large section of pie dough into a crust shape.

Melinda tried her best to copy the moves, flattening the dough with the pin; her hands were clumsy and her movements slow compared to Delia's, but Delia was humming along to the radio, and she smiled approvingly at Melinda's handiwork.

"It's what?" Delia wondered.

Silly? Stupid? Dangerous? A waste of time? Not practical?

The only problem was, none of those things were actually true anymore. Melinda stilled to realize that she'd been actively avoiding events like this for quite a while now; any sort of gathering where people had fun, where men got...drunk.

Did she still fear them? She wondered, as Delia took the rolled pie crust Melinda had been flattening, humming in satisfaction. "Try the next one," she requested.

Did she still fear what men could do? Even as she boasted about being an independent woman, even as she'd faced down men in an academic setting (well, all of her classmates, at least, and most of her teachers...Professor James was another story entirely…) she'd still avoided any environment where men lost their inhibitions and could become...threats.

But this was a small town, not a big city. Alcohol was legalized again, and Melinda had found that that was actually a relief.

Besides, she'd be with Delia. Delia's guest. No one would bother her here. Not in Grandview.

"Maybe I do want to go to the fair," Melinda managed, and Delia beamed at her.

"I'm glad you changed your mind," she said. "We just have a few more steps, and then you can go get ready." She smiled at Melinda, her gaze sweeping over Melinda's old housedress and apron. "Wear that new dress, the pink fluttery one. And I have just the hat for you; Charlie got it for me; I never wore it."

"But—"

Delia raised a stern eyebrow and Melinda silenced, feeling a reluctant smile sneak its way onto her face.

This whole being mothered thing wasn't actually so bad.

* * *

Jim dressed in his new suit that day, feeling a little foolish, but Mrs. Davis wolf whistled when he came down the stairs, causing him to flush and know that he was overdressed.

"Don't change," she scolded. "My oh my, you make a pretty picture right now. Like you stepped right off of one of those catalogue pages."

She fondly ruffled his hair as he sat down at the breakfast table, placing a bowl in front of him. "Eat up," she instructed. "Because you're going to be busy today, bringing all of my entries to the fair."

"How many contests are you entering?" Jim asked, tasting the honey swirled oatmeal.

"I'm reentering my Alpine Rose quilt," Mrs. Davis said. "I don't know why Betty Ann Frasier won last year, but she's not going to repeat it, since she's been too busy to sew this year. Thank goodness. And I have my embroideries, and my jams, and my pies…" She trailed off, a grim look on her face. "That Delia Banks thinks that she'll take my blue ribbon home again this year. She's wrong."

A smirk appeared on his landlady's face. "It's a little hard to enter a pie contest when you have no pies to enter," she finished. "Jim, don't look at me like that; I never said I was above a little sabotage."

Jim almost choked on his oatmeal to hear such a statement from his 5'0" landlady, the woman he'd previously thought to be somewhat of a saint.

She obviously still had at least a sprinkling of the devil inside her.

* * *

Matt appeared at the last second in his old truck, pulling up and parking in front of Mrs. Davis's house. "Jim!" He called, and Jim, inside, again startled to hear that name being used for him.

"Oh, is that your friend?" Mrs. Davis asked. "Ask him if we can take his car to the fair, I don't feel like walking much."

Seeing as how at this point both Jim and Mrs. Davis were _over_ loaded with her entries, he privately agreed.

"I didn't know you knew where I lived," Jim greeted, chuckling as he opened the door; Matt waited outside.

"It's Grandview, everyone knows where everyone lives," Matt corrected him. "Hello, Mrs. Davis."

"Hello, Mattie," she greeted. "I'm glad you came for us, I underestimated just how heavy all of my prizewinning entries would be."

"All?" Matt asked, chuckling before his laughter was cut off by her shoving her quilt into his arms, pies on top.

"Drop those and peril your life, Mattie," she snapped. "Now let me go and fetch my jams and we'll be ready to go."

"This is not what I volunteered for," Matt mumbled, carefully going back down the walk, Jim following.

"Why'd you stop then?" Jim wondered.

"I just wanted to pick you up," Matt said. "Spend some time with you." He mock glared behind him. "Doesn't she know that I'm injured?"

Jim chuckled, snatching the quilt from Matt. "I don't know, Mattie."

"Only my mother's friends get to call me that," Matt warned.

"Get in the back, Jim," Mrs. Davis commanded, marching out the front door. "Don't subject an old woman like me to the trundle seat."

"Just do as she asks," Matt chuckled, seeing Jim's face fall. "You can't argue with Mrs. Davis. Don't learn that the hard way."

"I've already learned it," Jim sighed. "The hardest way."

Matt's laughter rang out, loud and clear. Jim felt his heart warm to realize that this could be the continuation of a very promising friendship.

* * *

Melinda finished helping Delia set up at the fair, her pink dress fluttering in the breeze. The sun was beating down, hot and intense, but there was just enough of a wind to keep it bearable.

Almost.

She was glad for the hat Delia had so gladly lent to her, but still lifted her right hand to her face to shield her vision for a minute, certain that she'd seen Professor James.

She exhaled upon learning that it wasn't him, just someone with a similar haircut.

"Go ahead," Delia said happily. "You're done here. My oh my, sometimes I do wish we held this fair later. Most counties wait until September, when the world has started to cool, but here we are in the hottest days of July."

She rolled her eyes. "But you can't beat tradition, "she sighed, fanning her face. "Shoo, girl, Ned deserted us to find Katie ages ago." She grinned. "Go find your doctor," she teased, and any thoughts Melinda had entertained of hanging around Delia that day were banished, knowing that she'd never hear the end of it.

She wandered away from Delia, the sleeves on her dress mercifully short, and the buoyant skirt swinging in the breeze.

She could feel eyes on her, not just male eyes, not just intrusive ones.

People were curious; as people in small towns always were.

If she wanted to stay here, she should make an effort, she thought absently, fingering a lacey piece of crochet work proudly displayed at one of the booths.

She lingered for a moment, getting caught by the erotic holes in the lace, wondering how it would look attached to an evening gown.

She hurried on, getting a cone of cotton candy and taking a short lived bite, the sugar instantly dissolving in her mouth.

"Melinda!"

She turned at the sound of a female voice; Katie stood there, waving madly.

"Katie," Melinda greeted, voice warm as she walked to meet the younger woman, seeing her surrounded by people Melinda supposed to be her family.

"These are my younger siblings," Katie said. "Aaron, Mack, Lena and Emma."

"Hello," Melinda said, waving to the two boys and two girls standing there.

"Do we have to stick around with you?" One of the boys grumbled.

"Papa said that until he and mama got here you had to stay with me, Mack," Katie said, taking the youngest girl's hand. "Emma, stay close." Katie smiled at Melinda; whatever quarrels she had with her parents obviously didn't extend to her siblings. "Did you come with the Banks?"

"Yes," Melinda said. "I know that Ned was looking for you."

Katie's face lit up, then she lightly smacked Aaron on the arm. "Don't mention that to papa and I'll buy you cotton candy," she said.

"That's for kids," the teen drawled. "But give me the nickel and we're even."

Katie rolled her eyes, digging through a tiny change purse and handing him a nickel. "Don't waste it on a game you won't win at," she said.

"Well, I'll leave you be," Melinda said, noting a small amount of relief in Katie's eyes; she obviously loved her family, but definitely had a little bit of rebellion in her anyway, wanting to keep her worlds as budding career woman and dutiful daughter separate.

Melinda continued to wander through the fair, looking at the sights, drinking in the sounds.

She was in line for lemonade when she heard a voice, when someone called her name.

And she looked up to find Dr. Clancy standing next to her.

* * *

Melinda was here.

Well, Miss Gordon was.

Jim felt his entire body freeze to stone when he first saw her, tripping through the fair, pink dress fluttering around her shapely legs.

He knew that she was catching the eye of almost every man there, and he found himself saying a hurried goodbye to Matt, leaving his friend behind to be confused alone. "I'll meet you later," Jim called behind him, and quickly moved through the crowds of people, until he finally saw her again.

She was so pretty. Her skin seemed to glow in the early afternoon air, and there was an almost smile on her lips; her eyes showed definite amusement, if not happiness.

And he'd take amusement.

"Miss Gordon!" He called, as she got in line for lemonade; she jerked to attention, smile falling from her face as she madly traced the crowd of faces for the person calling her name; she visibly relaxed to see that it was him.

He wasn't sure how to take that reaction.

"Enjoying yourself?" He wondered, noting how tightly nipped the waist on her dress was, mentally placing his hands there where the bow was.

"Yes," she said. "It's very hot out."

"Don't overwork yourself," he cautioned, and quickly snatched a dime from his pocket, batting her hand away when she tried to pay the man. "Let me," he said, taking the lemonade and handing it to her, as the man gave him a second one for himself.

They walked away from the stand, and Melinda grew quiet, her cheeks now a little flushed as she sipped the tart drink.

"How have you been?" She finally asked, her voice quiet, words halting.

"Good," he said. "I've seen you around, a little. Everything is working out for you at Rockland U?"

Melinda nodded, lips pressed tightly together. "Yes," she added, after a moment of silence. "It's fine. You?"

"My business is doing...well," he said.

They fell silent again; Jim wondered if she felt the same charge in the air to be walking next to him as he did alongside her.

"I've hoped to talk to you again," he finally blurted. "Find out what you've been up to these ten years."

"Really?" She asked, eyes suddenly wider, browner, more vulnerable; she looked so beautiful it was nearly too much for him. It was like going back ten years, to the night he'd first met her.

Innocence. Eagerness. A girl, now a woman, still looking for her place in the world.

They grew quiet; he'd lost track of his words as he'd looked into her eyes and now he wasn't sure what to say.

They ended up in front of the giant ferris wheel, and Jim found himself gesturing towards it. "Take a ride with me," he offered.

"Oh, well," Melinda began.

"Are you afraid of heights?" Jim asked, meaning it to be compassionate, but knowing from her reaction that she took it as a taunt.

"No," she said, and got into line, leaving him behind to laugh and follow her, eager to walk in her footsteps.

They again waited in silence, and Jim couldn't help but notice that her breathing seemed to be elevated.

Oh god, his probably was too.

They were about to sit side by side in a limited space, and Jim wasn't a stupid man, he knew that ferris wheels were where men took their dates when they wanted to be clung to.

Yet his suggestion had been innocent enough.

He licked his lips, nervous again, as the line advanced, and the carnie was finally letting them on, ushering them into their car.

Melinda got in first, clinging to the carnie's hand for balance; Jim felt his jaw twitch that he wasn't the one helping her, but it only made sense.

The other man smirked at Jim and Jim resisted the urge to make a claim on Melinda, because he didn't have the right...he didn't have a claim to make.

Jim settled into the car beside her, and the carnie closed the door, lowering the bar over their laps.

Melinda licked her lips as the ferris wheel started again with a bit of a jerk; the car swayed alarmingly and even Jim's stomach jumped.

She gasped, a sharp inhale, moving closer to him on the seat as if without even realizing it.

Jim felt every nerve in his body jump in reply, and he clung to the bar in an almost white knuckled grip.

"The world looks different from above," Melinda said as they continued to rise; their car had been the last to load.

"It does," Jim agreed.

They were silent for a moment, but the silence was somehow no longer uncomfortable.

* * *

Melinda could feel Jim next to her, almost more than she could see him.

She avoided looking straight at him, but her gaze was falling to where his hands gripped the safety bar; she wondered if he was afraid of heights, but it was hard to imagine Jim...er...Dr. Clancy...afraid of anything.

It was cooler higher up, though the sun was nearer, and Melinda almost began to relax, until the wheel started to take them down and she felt her stomach flutter.

Against her better judgment, against everything inside her, and yet in agreement with every single message that her heart seemed to be sending her, she moved closer to Jim, grabbing onto his arm as though she didn't have a choice because it was starting to go faster and god in heaven, maybe she was afraid of heights.

They swung up again; she at least managed to resist the shriek building, and then it was suddenly over, and they were being let out.

Melinda let go of his arm, not missing the way the carney smirked at them, raising her chin high and ignoring the flutters in her stomach, the way her hands immediately missed the feel of Jim's strong arm under her fingers.

And Jim was looking at her; the crowd around them seemed to swell, and he was suddenly, startlingly, pulling her close, one hand on her waist, electrifying her and completely stealing her breath away.

The crowd dissipated; he let her go, and now it was his turn to survey the crowd, not quite looking at her.

"May I have your number?" He wondered.

"It's just Mrs. Banks, my landlady's," Melinda began, but her voice almost gave out. "It's Grandview, 57745."

He looked down at her now, gaze caught by hers, and she felt her mouth lose all moisture.

"May I call you?" He wondered.

She licked her lips, trying to get enough courage to speak. "Evenings are best," she managed, and then she saw Delia, and made her escape, almost running through the fair, feeling Jim's gaze on her the whole time.


End file.
